r -fin
•CD
"CO
OPINIONS OF THE PRESS
ON THE FIRST EDITION OF AN IRISH UTOPIA.
f*
"A tale of the Irish aristocracy and disputed titles more
than half a century ago. It is worked out cleverly and
attractively enough." — 2'he Times.
"We give a hearty welcome to this uncommon book —
uncommon in its authorship and in its treatment, and refresh-
ingly uncommon in its large and confident appeal to honest
Irishmen of every class and creed. . . . Mr. Edge has done
for the Land Commission what Charles Lamb did for the India
Office ; he has asserted its humanity. We now know that
for many years past at least one Irish official has found in
Irish land flesh and blood, hopes and passions, as well as
acres, roods, and perches, and the subject-matter of pink
schedules. . . . It is one of the kindest, most sweet-tempered,
and most impartial books that ever were written about
Ireland." — Irish Times.
"The story, which is told throughout in conversational
style, abounds in thrilling incidents which have been skilfully
dovetailed, and whose origin, to persons acquainted with the
period in which the plot is placed, can without difficulty be
traced. We have in these pages very admirable character-
sketches of many well-known Irish personages." — The
Freeman's Journal.
" The tale deals with Irish life about eighty years ago, and
one of the characters is the great Dr. Doyle, Roman Catholic
Bishop of Kildare and Leighlin. Altogether a good picture
OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.
of the times is given. Mr. Edge is especially successful with
his female characters ; those of Gertrude Banks and Angelica
being both of them drawn with considerable insight. "-
Daily News.
"As a quietly written and thoughtful description of Irish
country life, it is a pleasant book. '''—The Tribune.
"Not the least charm of this 'Utopia' is the kindliness
and geniality which breathe through its every chapter. "-
2 ruth.
"The sensationalism of the plot does not extend to the
detail of the book. The dialogues and characterizations are
distinguished by that poetry of accuracy which Crabbe was
the first to introduce into our literature." — Glasgow Herald.
" The old life in Ireland a hundred years ago is described
accurately and cleverly ; and some side reflections of the
author here and there are amusing." — Tuam Herald.
"The characterization in the novel, especially in its
delineation of the genial parish priest, Father O'Toole,
is excellent; and the sentiment and humour are racy of the
soil . " — L iverpool Courier.
" The spirit of romance is richly interwoven with the texture
of the story, which includes several love scenes, the dramatic
story of a bewitching actress, a girl of lofty purpose and good
character, whose noble birth is for a time obscured, while a
turning-point in the book depends in truly legal fashion upon
a great Court of Assize in the town of Wicklow." — Church of
Ireland Gazette.
" While the book furnishes decidedly pleasant reading as a
mere story, it is pervaded by a very serious purpose, namely,
to suggest the possibility of establishing in Ireland a kind of
religious Utopia, on the lines advocated many years ago by
the renowned ' J. K. L.,' Dr. Doyle, Roman Catholic Bishop
of Kildare and Leighlin. The author describes himself as a
'low-church Episcopalian.' His plea for more broad-
[ 2
OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.
mindedness and charity in the Church relations of this
country will commend itself to thoughtful men of every
creed."— The Irish Presbyterian.
" What we really like best of all in Mr. Edge's book is the
spirit of goodwill which overflows its pages, and the evidence
it presents throughout of its author's desire to bring, if he
could, all his fellow-countrymen into a fold of union."—
The Irish Catholic.
"The book displays an intimate knowledge of Irish history,
religious and social.
" The plot is highly ingenious, and the interest of the reader
is sustained throughout.
"The scene is laid in the County of Wicklow ; and not the
least attractive portions of the book are the descriptions of the
scenery of that picturesque county.
"The book, however, is more thau an ordinary novel.
Scattered up and down its pages are dissertations on subjects
of abiding interest. The ancient history of Glendalough ; the
antiquity of the Round Towers ; the evils of the ' Middleman '
system, as affecting the tenants : the ethics of the theatre
and the racecourse ; the career of the great Dr. Doyle ; Irish
Freemasonry ; the ethnology of the Irish race ; the causes of
the great famine of '45 and '46 — on all these subjects our
author has something to say, and his views are interesting
and instructive. We commend 'An Irish Utopia' to our
readers as a notable instance of the growing spirit of toleration
in Ireland."— The Catholic Weekly.
" Readable novels . , . ' An Irish Utopia.' A story of
Irish life eighty years ago, with something of melodrama and
something of realism in it." — Spectator.
"The book is, indeed, a lightly touched and very silvery
phase of the Land Problem, not a dull or one-sided one at
all, and most certainly not disfigured by dry technicalities or
subject involvements of any kind. . . . Greater praise I cannot
give it than to acknowledge that I robbed my tired self of two
much -needed hours of morning slumber in order to complete
[ 3 ]
OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.
the reading of it ; and better advice I cannot give to book-
lovers than say, ' Go out at once and secure copies for your
own certain benefit and delectation.' "—"Candid Jane" in
Irish Society.
" The romantic portion of the story is decidedly worth
reading, but to Irish lawyers the most interesting portions are
those dealing with the great Irish lawyers of the past, who are
introduced in the chapters towards the close of the book,
dealing with the Leinster Bar and the trial at the Wicklow
Assizes."— Irish Law Times.
" The story deals largely with, and is in favour of, the unity
of Christendom. There should not be 'two Irelands," one
Catholic and the other Protestant ; but the youth of the country
should be brought up together, a united race for a common
fatherland. . . . 'An Irish Utopia' is as good as a jaunt to
' the ould Sod." " — The Winnipeg Telegram.
" 'An Irish Utopia ' . . . is a blend of fiction and disquisi-
tion on various Irish subjects. The story, which is interesting
and pleasantly written, turns on a fraudulent attempt by the
younger of two brothers (twins) to establish his claim to a title
and estate at the expense of the elder. ... A description of
the lawsuit at the Wicklow Assizes to determine who is the real
heir gives Mr. Edge an opportunity for some capital sketches
of Irish lawyers a couple of generations ago." —The Melbourne
Argus.
4 ]
<n
AN IRISH UTOPIA.
RVING H, CAMERON
307 SHERBORNE ST.
TORONTO
AN IRISH UTOPIA:
A STORY OF
A PHASE OF THE LAND PROBLEM.
n, CAMERON,
5HERIORNE ST.
BY
^A
JOHN H. EDGE, M.A.
m
(TRIN. COLL., DUB.),
ONE OF HIS MAJESTY'S COUNSEL, AND EX-LEGAL ASSISTANT
LAND COMMISSIONER J
AUTHOR OF "THE QUICKSANDS OF LIFE," &c.
NEW EDITION:
WITH A SPECIAL INTRODUCTION (NOW FIRST PUBLISHED) DEALING
WITH THE SUBJECT OF THE
IRISH ROUND TOWERS.
IRVING H, CAMERON
307SHERBORNEST.
TORONTO
DUBLIN :
COMBRIDGE & CO., LTD.
1910.
{All rights reserved.]
DUBLIN :
PRINTED AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS,
BY PONSONBY & GIBBS.
PR
First printea ', 1906.
Second Edition, 1910.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
PREFACE TO THE NEW EDITION . . . . vii
PREPACK. TO THE FIRST EDITION .... xxxv
CHAPTER
I. THE VALE OF CLARA . i
II. THE BAPTISM OF THE TWINS . . 9
III. FATHER O'TooLE . . . . .18
IV. THE FAMOUS J. K. L. . . . . 23
V. THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE . . -3'
VI. DINNER AT KINGSCASTLE ... 36
VII. WHO BURNT THE CASTLE HILL? . . .46
VIII. THE EVOLUTION OF THE IRISH PEOPLE . 53
IX. DID ENGLAND AGGRAVATE THE FAMINE? . 61
X. ANGELICA'S SUITORS .... 71
XI. THE STARVING ACTRESS . . . -76
XII. THE CONSPIRATORS .... 83
XIII. ONE OF THE GREAT MEN OF TRniiTY . . 87
XIV. A LEADING DUBLIN DOCTOR 95
XV. FATHER O'TOOLE'S SERMON . . .100
XVI. " BY THAT LAKE WHOSE GLOOMY SHORE " . 109
XVI I. Do THE CATHOLICS REALLY HATE THE
PROTESTANTS? . . . . .120
XVIII. THE MAKING OF THE PROTESTANTS . . 129
XIX. ANGELICA AND THE BONEEN (LITTLE PIG) . 140
vi CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
XX. WHAT HAS BECOME OF FATHER O'Tooi.E's
REGISTER? ..... . 150
XXI. THE THEATRE ELEVATES AS WELL AS DEPRAVES 159
XXII. ALL FRIENDS ROUND THE WREKIN . . .168
XXIII. "How CHARMING is DIVINE PHILOSOPHY!" 181
XXIV. TOTAL ABSTINENCE FROM ALCOHOL . . 194
XXV. A DEATH-BED SCENE RECALLED . . 203
XXVI. WAS THE BISHOP OF BALLINASLOE AT PUNCHES-
TOWN ? ...... 213
XXVII. AN ETON BOY 223
XXVIII. THE PORT-WINE SOLICITORS . . .230
XXIX. MR. MACNAMARA, Q.C., AT CONSULTATION . 240
XXX. THE CAT TOBIAS . . . .247
XXXI. THE LEINSTER BAR . . . .251
XXXII. THE WICKLOW ASSIZES . . . . 255
XXXIII. A DEATH-BED REPENTANCE . . . 268
XXXIV. THE DOG TEAGUE .... 278
XXXV. ARE THE IRISH AS BLACK AS THE ENGLISH
PAINT THEM?. . . . .281
XXXVI. DON'T MOVE THAT FONT . . . .285
XXXVII. THE HUMMING BOWL . . .293
n. v/rwiurvvHf
307 SHERBORNE ST.
PREFACE TO THE NEW EDITION.
A SPECIAL INTRODUCTION
DEALING WITH
THE SUBJECT OF THE IRISH ROUND TOWERS.
I [HAVE : been more than satisfied with the
reception which AN IRISH UTOPIA has met
with from persons of various shades of religion
and politics ; and I think I may safely say
that I have been credited with at least good
intentions.
The large-hearted and broad-minded Bishop
Doyle (J. K. L.) strove earnestly, as I have
explained in my book, to unite all Christians
in his native land. He died without having
Vlii PREFACE TO THE NEW EDITION.
accomplished his noble purpose; and I fear
that this truly peaceful solution of many Irish
difficulties is not yet in sight. There are
perhaps some rifts in the clouds ; and it is to
be hoped that we Irish, though differing
somewhat among ourselves in our religious
beliefs, are now all strenuously working
together for the promotion of the peace and
prosperity of our dear native land.
I chose the valley of the Avonmore for the
scene of the opening chapters of AN IRISH
UTOPIA, because I wished to ramble through
familiar scenes. I have been from childhood
intimately associated with the Vale of Clara,
Knockreagh (still showing the remains of
King O'Toole's Castle), Ballard, and the
surrounding district; and I often longed to
penetrate the mystery of Glendalough's
Tower, which seemed to remain always a
weird and provokingly silent object as it rose
above the almost equally mysterious sacred
ruins around it. Each of our Irish Round
Towers is a landmark, if it can only be
rightly interpreted, remaining from far distant
THE IRISH ROUND TOWERS. IX
ages; and my feelings and those, I am sure,
of many others about these absorbingly inte-
resting relics are vividly expressed by the
Rev. James Lecky in the beautiful lines —
" O mystic Tower ! I never gaze on thee,
Altho' since childhood's scarce remember'd spring
Thou wert to me a most familiar thing,
Without an awe, and not from wonder free.
" O structure strange and column -like and high !
Thy lofty brow is lifted towards the sky,
And all things human that around thee lie,
Thou, lonely watcher, here, ere they began,
Saw'st as they rose around thee."
The antiquities of Ireland are not suffi-
ciently known to the travelling public; and
many more people would visit Ireland if they
knew what rich stores are to be found in
Glendalough and other places. Mr. Marcus
Keane commences his book, " The Towers
and Temples of Ancient Ireland," with
the bold assertion : " Ireland, more than
any other country in Europe, abounds with
ruins, such as Round Towers, sculptured
crosses, and stone-roofed churches, many of
which display no mean degree of artistic
skill"; and, in expressing his views as to
X PREFACE TO THE NEW EDITION.
the great antiquity of these towers and
stone-roofed churches, he tries to account
as follows for the wonderful preservation in
which they still remain : — " There is one
objection to this theory [i.e., of their great
age] which, I have no doubt, will occur to
many of my readers — it is the improbability
of buildings erected 3,000 years ago still
remaining in a state of such comparative
perfection. . . . Such objection can have no
weight with anyone acquainted with the
quality of our Irish building-stone. ... I am
aware of the vast difference which exists
between English and Irish building-stone in
this respect. The superiority of the Irish
stone — sandstone as well as limestone — may
be owing to the quality of the stone itself,
combined with more favourable circumstances
in the action of the atmosphere upon it.
Whatever the cause may be, the fact is
undeniably as I have stated." This is a
decided challenge to architects and builders
to utilize the Irish quarries ready to their
hands for repairing and renewing the various
THE IRISH ROUND TOWERS. XI
important works in Ireland which, in recent
years, have been built with foreign imported
stone, and some of which already show
alarming signs of decay.
Many learned men and women, too, have
devoted much study to these national land-
marks, and in doing so have incidentally
called attention to the equally fascinating
and more important subjects of the ancient
history and language of Ireland. Such
writers often differ among themselves, happily
without displaying any of the bitterness of
sectarian or political antagonism. And they
all, irrespective of what might be supposed
to be their natural prejudices, have been
striving after truth. As I am neither an
antiquary, an archaeologist, nor a philologist,
I cannot hope to contribute anything original
to the discussion of such subjects ; but I can
at least attempt to awaken popular interest
in questions which have been too much
neglected. I wish to invite criticism and
induce my readers to consult the various
authorities for themselves, without being
xii PREFACE TO THE NEW EDITION.
satisfied with my extracts or comments. I am
also anxious in my small way to make my
fellow-countrymen proud of many of the
events in their national history. There was
quite as much enmity between the Scotch
Lowlanders and Highlanders as between any
of the, alas ! too numerous contending parties
in Ireland. And if the Lowlander and High-
lander are now proud of the noble deeds of
their several ancestors, why cannot we Irish
be proud, not only of our ancient towers and
other buildings, but also of Brian Boru,
Sarsfield, and the brave defenders of Derry,
and still more of Erin's gifted sons, from
John Erigena to Berkeley and Edmund
Burke? Though they are more in my
thoughts and of greater personal interest
to me, I must, of course, omit the names of
many of whom we ought to be even still
prouder, inasmuch as their careers belong to
the nineteenth century and after, and it would
be presumptuous for me to speak of them, as
their memories are still too fresh in our
minds.
THE IRISH ROUND TOWERS. Xlll
As regards the origin of our Round Towers,
I think that there are good grounds for
believing that the earliest of them were built
before the Christian era. It is admitted by
all writers on the subject that there are traces
of more of these peculiar towers in this
" tight little island of ours " than have as
yet been discovered in the rest of the world.
This fact has had a great influence in leading
me to accept the theory of their pre-Christian
origin.
Miss Margaret Stokes, who edited the late
Earl of Dunraven's " Notes on Irish Archi-
tecture," and was herself a very distinguished
archaeologist, believed firmly that these towers
were erected by Christians. In her book,
" Early Christian Art in Ireland," she says :
" In the beginning of this [i.e., the nineteenth]
century it was found that 118 of these circular
ecclesiastical towers of Ireland [i.e., the Round
Towers] were still in existence. The type
was not peculiar to this country before the
eleventh century, and even now twenty-two
foreign examples of similar towers may be
XIV PREFACE TO THE NEW EDITION.
added." Mr. Joseph Anderson, who also
believed that they were built during the
Christian era, in his ''Scotland in Early
Christian Times," referring to the Round
Towers, some of which are found in Scotland,
speaks of them as " stragglers from a great
typical group which has its habitat in Ireland."
Then, again, Mr. Keane, who took quite
an opposite view as to the period of their
construction, says : " Lists of Irish Round
Towers have been made to the number of
120; of these the remains of about sixty-six
are traceable " ; and Canon Bourke, who was
of opinion that most of the Round Towers
belong to the early pagan period, in his book,
11 Pre-Christian Ireland," says, in reply to the
query how many are still standing wholly or
in part, " The probable number is seventy-
six. There had been over 100 Round Towers."
In Lord Dunraven's book, which supports the
theory of the Christian origin of the Round
Towers, and in which the list of the twenty-
two foreign towers is given, I find none in
England or Wales, nine in Scotland and the
THE IRISH ROUND TOWERS. XV
adjoining isles — which, all writers agree, were
copies of the Irish originals — and only thirteen
in the rest of Europe. These statements by
authors who differ so widely with respect to
other aspects of the question, may suggest
that the true solution of the problem is to be
found in the theory that this peculiar Round
Tower originated in Ireland, and that the few
examples of it found elsewhere were only
imitations of the Irish design. However
plausible this theory may be, it cannot be
accepted, as all experts, whether they adopt
the pre-Christian or the Christian theory of
the origin of these towers, agree in tracing
their original home to the Far East ; and
I think this view must commend itself to
everyone who studies the probabilities of the
case.
The Irish Round Towers vary in height
from 50 to 130 feet. They usually taper
upwards, and in external circumference at the
base are from 40 to 60 feet. They are
furnished at the top with a conical roof of
stone. Lord Dunraven mentions Round
xvi PREFACE TO THE NEW EDITION.
Towers which have been found in connexion
with English churches; but he distinguishes
them from the Irish type, and does not include
them in his list of twenty-two " somewhat
similar" towers.
Lord Dunraven held that the Round
Towers in Southern Europe owed their origin
to an influx of Byzantine workmen into the
North of Italy and to the Court of Charle-
magne, and that the circular tower may be a
reminiscence of the Eastern cylindrical pillar ;
and, while admitting the probability of their
original pagan origin, he maintained that they
were introduced into Ireland by the Christians
from the continent of Europe. This may be
taken as the general opinion of all writers who
believe that the Irish Round Towers were
built after the introduction of Christianity.
They at once encounter a difficulty which
Lord Dunraven perceived, and with which he
boldly attempted to grapple. I give his own
words : " But, it may be argued, if the type
was originally imported from France, why are
such detached church towers not to be seen
THE IRISH ROUND TOWERS. Xvil
there still, when they are so common in
Ireland? The answer to that is, that the
continental church towers of the Carlovingian
age have been almost wholly destroyed, and
generally replaced by those of a later and
more beautiful type, while those of the first
type still stand in Ireland." If the Christians
had actually built a large number of these
peculiar Towers throughout France and the
rest of the continent of Europe, I think that
their subsequent disappearance is not satis-
factorily accounted for by Lord Dunraven,
and that his theory certainly does not explain
the complete absence of any trace of such
Towers from Christian England.
If the Irish Round Towers were built
in connexion with Christian churches, the
question arises, For what purpose were they
intended ? The most usual conjecture on this
point is that they were t>ell-towers, and their
Irish name cloicthech suggests that purpose
for them ; but any significance which may be
attached to the word cloicthech is greatly
weakened by the fact that the term cloicthech
b
XVlii PREFACE TO THE NEW EDITION.
(bell-house) was used by early Irish writers
synonymously with that of " tower," and did
not merely convey the ideas that we now
associate with church belfries. Mr. G. T.
Clarke, who is quoted as an authority in
the appendices to Lord Dunraven's book,
ridicules the idea that these towers were
suitable for belfries, and rather hesitatingly
supports the theory that they were built for
defence. As to this latter theory Mr. Clarke
practically answers any argument he has
himself advanced in favour of it by adding
the significant qualification, — " unless the
enemy had the means of undermining it,
or time to collect sufficient wood to roast
the garrison." He might have also stated
that these towers were usually built on the
plains, and not on the hills, and therefore
could not have opposed any natural obstacle
to an attacking force, I strongly recommend
all who are interested in the question of the
purpose for which these towers were built
to visit them and form their own opinions on
the matter* The number of persons that
THE IRISH ROUND TOWERS. XIX
they could accommodate and their internal
arrangements can even now be best under-
stood by means of a personal inspection.
The Aryans, as is well known, lived in
ancient times in Central Asia, east of the
Caspian Sea and north of the Hindoo Koosh
Mountains ; and they were the stock from
which sprang the Hindoo, Persian, and Celtic
races. The editor of that impartial work,
Webster's Dictionary, actually considers that
the word "Aryan" still survives in "Erin"
or "Iran," or " Ireland." The same authority
also gives " Iran " as the native name of
Persia ; and Persia, it must be remembered,
was the home of Zoroaster, the fundamental
article of whose creed was the identification
of Truth with the Supreme Being.
Round Towers with conical roofs like the
Irish Round Towers have been discovered in
Persia and India, and are now generally
admitted to have been the originals from
which the Irish towers were copied. Nearly
all the supporters of the theory of their pre-
Christian origin consider that they were built
XX PREFACE TO THE NEW EDITION.
in homage to and recognition of the Creator
of the Universe, and that they represent the
earliest and most primitive form of the
worship of Almighty God. The great Creator
was acknowledged from prehistoric times as
the Author of all living things and the
Architect and Maker of the entire universe;
and I believe that He was regarded by these
builders as an all-pervading spiritual Being
who had neither beginning of days nor end
of life, the one First Cause of everything.
I have attempted to explain, in Father
O'Toole's address in Chapter XV, how,
in my opinion, this primitive worship was
perfected and fulfilled in Christ, whom we
Christians acknowledge as the Messiah of
Hebrew prophecy. This earliest and simplest
form of worship of one God, shown in the
building of these peculiar Round Towers, was
the precursor of the worship of the sun and
of fire. When monotheism degenerated into
polytheism, and mankind divided (as it were)
this one God — the Supreme Being — into
separate gods or beings, a special pillar or
THE IRISH ROUND TOWERS. XXI
tower was erected to each such false god ;
and, finally, pillars and towers, like the
Rosetta Stone, were built in memory of men
and women of note, or for the purpose of
recording memorable events. The early form
of the tower, which is preserved in our Irish
Round Towers, was departed from when the
object of worship was split up into a plurality
of gods, and its structure took various shapes
and became ornate. These sacred towers
and pillars, with scarcely an exception, are
found near pagan temples or holy places, or.
in burying-places, or are by inscriptions on
them dedicated to some deity.
The famous Moabite Stone, for example,
which is now an independent confirmation,
neither Israelitish nor Christian, of Bible his-
tory, was originally set up, as the Rev. A. H.
Sayce explains, in his book, " The Higher
Criticism and the Verdict of the Monuments,"
for the double object of paying homage to the
god Chemosh and commemorating a battle.
These sacred towers or pillars were by
no means always made of stone, and were
XXl'i PREFACE TO THE NEW EDITION.
often of brick or brass or whatever materials
were most easily procurable in the various
districts where they were erected. When
stone was not used, the peculiar form of the
Irish Tower was rarely adopted. The cele-
brated pillars in Solomon's temple were of
brass, and, though not resembling in structure
our primitive Towers, were, like them, intended
as aids to the worship of the Supreme Creator
of the universe. Dean Stanley, in his " His-
tory of the Jewish Church," says of them :
" Whenever, in coins or histories, we get a
representation of a Phoenician sanctuary, it
always has a pillar, or pillars, standing before
or within it; such, as we shall see, were
Jachin and Boaz "; and, further on, he says :
"They [i.e., Jachin and Boaz] stood im-
mediately under the porch within, but not
supporting it, and were called, either from the
workmen or from their own firmness and
solidity, Jachin and Boaz." The Revisers of
the English Bible, and Mr. Henry O'Brien,
in his book " The Round Towers of Ireland,"
agree in translating "Jachin" by "he shall
THE IRISH ROUND TOWERS. XXlii
establish," and "Boaz" by "in it is strength."
In the Douay Bible, "Jachin" is translated
by " firmly established," and the second
pillar is spelled " Booz," and translated by
" in its strength."
These sacred towers or pillars must not be
confounded with watch-towers, described by
Dr. William Wright in his book, "An Account
of Palmyra and Zenobia." These watch-towers
were not in consecrated places, nor were they
erected in memory of any god or human
being, nor for the perpetuation of historical
evidence ; and, though they were round in
shape, they had, instead of conical tops, flat
roofs, suitable for observatories. They were
similar to that mentioned by our Lord in the
parable of "a certain householder, which
planted a vineyard, and hedged it round
about, and digged a winepress in it, and
built a tower, and let it out to husbandmen "
(Matt. xxi. 33). These secular towers were
intended for watchmen to guard against
thieves.
The advocates of the theory that the Irish
XXIV PREFACE TO THE NEW EDITION.
Round Towers were erected in prehistoric
times believe that their original builders
came direct from the East, and that their
architect and master-builder was called the
Gobhan Saer. Dr. Petrie, in his book,
" The Round Towers and Ancient Architec-
ture of Ireland," also recognizes the Irish
tradition that their chief designer was the
famous Gobhan Saer. He, however, con-
siders the Gobhan Saer to have been an
Irishman whose ancestors, many centuries
before he was born, had come from the Far
East; and that this great master-builder
flourished early in the seventh century of
the Christian era. Authorities are also not
agreed as to the meaning of his name.
"Gobhan" or " Gobban " means in Irish
t* Smith," and "Saer" "Mason"; and
so the compound " Gobhan-Saer" would
literally signify "Smith-Mason." Other more
fanciful interpretations are given of the terms.
Dr. Petrie and Mr. Keane agree that
the Round Towers and churches associated
with them must have been built at the same
THE IRISH ROUND TOWERS. XXV
time. Dr. Petrie says the churches were
Christian, and therefore also the towers ;
while Mr. Keane argues that the churches,
such as Cormac's Chapel at Cashel, were
originally pagan, and that therefore the
towers were also built in a pre-Christian age.
I do not propose to attempt an analysis of
Dr. Petrie's and Mr. Keane's learned and
highly technical reasons founded on minute
examinations of these ancient buildings. We
have here in Ireland many highly qualified
architects and archaeologists fully equipped
at all points for such an undertaking.
I merely suggest that if some of the earliest
Round Towers and sacred buildings were, as
a matter of fact, erected a great many years
before the Christian era, they may from time
to time have been repaired, reconstructed, or
added to. Allowing all that is possible for
the almost imperishable nature of the native
Irish building-stone, it must be conceded that
some of the building materials would have given
way in such a lapse of time ; that the Danes
and other invaders must have committed a
XXVI PREFACE TO THE NEW EDITION.
large amount of wanton destruction ; and
that there may have been alterations in
and additions to what were originally pagan
temples, so as to convert them into Christian
churches.
I now pass on to the more historical
aspect of the question, on which a flood of
light has been thrown by several ancient
documents. Canon Bourke gives detailed
accounts of six separate settlements of Celts
in Ireland before A.D. 1172, the date of the
invasion of Ireland in the reign of Henry II.
It is only necessary to consider the fifth and
sixth of these Celtic invasions with reference
to the probable period of the erection of the
Round Towers. The fifth of these settle-
ments was made by an Aryan tribe called the
Tuatha de Danann, which, according to
Canon Bourke, means " Tribes of the God,"
or " Goddess of Skill," or " Tribes of the
God-like men of skill," and, according to
Mr. O'Brien, " The Magician-God-Almoners,"
or the "Almoner-Magicians of the Deity."
Canon Bourke and other believers in the pre-
THE IRISH ROUND TOWERS. XXVli
Christian origin of our towers hold that this
tribe came to Ireland direct from the East
about 1800 years before Christ; and they
consider that these people, very shortly after
their settlement here, built most of the Irish
Round Towers, and that the remainder were
modelled from the earlier structures.
It is freely admitted by Dr. Petrie and
other authorities that the Tuatha de Danann,
who came to Ireland in the very remote past,
were a highly accomplished people, and parti-
cularly skilled in erecting dome-roofed houses
and sepulchres of stone in the style now
called Cyclopean and Pelasgic; and Dr. Petrie
is also of opinion that they built the Irish
Round Towers, but after, and not before, the
introduction of Christianity. The Tuatha de
Danann were evidently of a high caste among
Eastern tribes. Dr. Joyce, in his " Social
History of Ancient Ireland," says " they were
great magicians." They may have belonged
to the sacerdotal order, or at least have
contained numbers of learned religious people
among them ; and it is highly probable that
XXViii PREFACE TO THE NEW EDITION.
they first introduced into our island that
remarkable reverence for the great Creator
which, amongst all our quarrels and mis-
fortunes, we as a people have never entirely
lost. We know that in the East the tower
was erected as a tribute to and recognition of
Almighty God ; and if the Tuatha de Danann
brought the worship of God with them, it is
tolerably certain that they also introduced
this sacred tower when first they reached their
new country, and that they did not wait until
after the introduction of Christianity to do so.
They were at a very remote period, and within
less than two hundred years after their arrival
in Ireland, overcome by the Milesians, the
last of the six separate Celtic settlements
described by Canon Bourke. The Milesians,
unlike their predecessors, did not come
directly from the East ; they came from
south-western Europe. They were as re-
markable for their ignorance of the art of
building in stone as the Tuatha de Danann
were for their knowledge of it. They were a
brave, noble-looking race, excelling the Tuatha
THE IRISH ROUND TOWERS. XXIX
de Danann in physical strength, though inferior
to them in technical and mental culture. Any
of the Tuatha de Danann who were not
exterminated became subject to the Milesians,
and in the end amalgamated with them, and
seem to have wholly abandoned the civilized
arts which they had cultivated before their
conquerors came. Dr. Petrie fully recognizes
that it was impossible that the Milesians
could have erected the Round Towers ; and
he therefore supposes that the Tuatha de
Danann had retained the architectural skill
necessary for building these peculiar towers,
which had been derived by them from the
East ; and that they erected the towers, after
the introduction of Christianity. This looks
like a desperate effort to get out of a great
difficulty ; and evidently this solution of the
problem did not commend itself either to
Lord Dunraven or his editor, Miss Stokes.
They, as I have already shown, consider that
our Round Towers were introduced by the
Christians from France ; and they were of
opinion that foreign, and not native, architects
XXX PREFACE TO THE NEW EDITION.
designed and built them. Lord Dunraven
and Miss Stokes, however, in their turn have,
it appears to me, to encounter a difficulty just
as great as that which confronted Dr. Petrie.
If it were from continental Europe that the
designers of our Round Towers came, why is
that particular part of the world now left
with scarcely a trace of them remaining ?
and if they were first introduced into Ireland
from the Continent, why were they not
similarly introduced into the nearer and
more important kingdom of England?
I may here state that " lerne's sweetest
lyrist" was a firm believer in the pre-Christian
origin of our Round Towers. We can well
imagine that the author of " Lalla Rookh,"
when he could not maintain that they were
peculiar to Ireland, preferred, if possible, to
trace them to an Eastern rather than to a
Western source. Dr. Petrie, in his book, most
impartially gives extracts from that poet's
prose writings on the subject. Moore's ex-
quisite poems were at one time more familiar
in Ireland than they are now. Since the
THE IRISH ROUND TOWERS. Xxxi
introduction of the higher education, the Irish
girls sing perhaps too many German songs.
The songs of fifty years ago sounded more
home-like, when the girls of that period, with
a delicious flavour of their native brogue,
" warbled their native wood-notes wild."
Probably my readers will think that I have
given them too much prose, and would now
prefer some poetry ; so I shall conclude by
quoting a few lines from one of the Melodies,
in which our lyrist alludes to a quaint old
legend concerning our Round Towers : —
" On Lough Neagh's bank, as the fisherman strays,
When the clear, cold eve's declining,
He sees the Round Towers of other days
In the wave beneath him shining ;
Thus shall memory often, in dreams sublime,
Catch a glimpse of the days that are over ;
Thus, sighing, look through the waves of time
For the long-faded glories they cover."
It may be useful to give a list (which is,
of course, by no means exhaustive) of works
on the Round Towers and other Antiquities
of Ireland : —
The Round Towers and Ancient Architecture of Ireland,
by George Petrie, LL.D.
XXXli PREFACE TO THE NEW EDITION.
The Towers and Temples of Ancient Ireland, by Marcus
Keane. 1867.
Notes on Irish Architecture, by the Earl of Dunraven.
1875-
The History of the Round Towers of Ireland, by Daniel
O'Byrne. 1877.
Ireland and the Celtic Church, by the Rev. G. T.
Stokes, D.D. 1886.
Early Christian Art in Ireland, by Margaret Stokes.
1887.
Pre-Christian Ireland, by the Rev. Canon U. J.
Bourke, P.P. 1887.
Pagan Ireland, by W. G. Wood-Martin. 1895.
The Round Towers of Ireland, by H. O'Brien (1834).
New Edition, by W. H. C. 1898.
The Ancient Forts of Ireland, by T. J. Westropp, C.E.
1902.
Wakeman's Handbook of Irish Antiquities, by John
Cooke. 1903.
A Social History of Ancient Ireland, by P. W. Joyce,
LL.D. 1903.
Celtic Antiquities (Christian Period) in National
Museum, Dublin, by George Coffey. 1909.
Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland (various papers) ;
and, in particular, paper on Glendalough, by the
Rev. Denis Murphy, s.j., and T. J. Westropp, C.E.
1895 ; and other papers in same series, by T. J.
Westropp. 1894, 1897, and 1898.
THE IRISH ROUND TOWERS. xxxiii
GUIDES AND HANDBOOKS,
Baddeley's (Ireland, 2 vols.), by M. J. B. Baddeley
and C. S. Ward.
Black's (Dublin and East Ireland), by G. E. Mitton.
Glendalough, by T. J. Westropp, in British Association
Dublin Handbook.
Glendalough, by Rev. M. Hogan, c.c.
Glendalough, by T. Nolan.
Murray's Handbook (Ireland), by John Cooke.
JOHN H. EDGE.
1 6 CLYDE ROAD, DUBLIN,
March, 1910.
PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.
I THINK it right to state that no covert
allusion is made in this book to any person
who lived in, or had property in, the Vale of
Clara, Glenmalure, or Glendalough. The
same remark applies to Shropshire. For
example, the Corbets, the Dijons, the Malets,
Father O'Toole, and the Mannings are
not intended to represent any particular
individuals.
As the work deals largely with and is
in favour of " The Unity of Christendom,"
I rnay mention that I am a low-church
Episcopalian.
I have ventured to introduce as one of the
characters of the story the great Dr. J. W.
Doyle, Roman Catholic Bishop of Kildare
xxxvi PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.
and Leighlin. He has now been dead for
many years ; but the memory of his useful
and noble life can never perish.
I have referred to several authorities in the
narrative ; and I should like to add that
anyone visiting Glendalough will find inte-
resting information in the Rev. M. Hogan's
learned and concise treatise, Black's Guide,
and Murray's Handbook.
JOHN H. EDGE.
November, 1906. •
AN IRISH UTOPIA.
•
CHAPTER I.
THE VALE OF CLARA.
THE Vale of Clara extends from Laragh Bridge,
near Glendalough, to the town of Rathdrum. It
is one of the loveliest of the many lovely vales of
beautiful Wicklow.
Rathdrum is a town in Ireland ; it would be
merely a village in England.
The Avonmore, or big Avon, flows out of the
Lakes of Glendalough, and runs along the Vale the
whole way, passes Rathdrum and Avondale — once
the home of Charles Stewart Parnell — and joins the
Avonbeg, or little Avon, at the Meeting of the
Waters, which inspired one of the sweetest of
Moore's Irish Melodies.
From Rathdrum to the sea the Vale is called the
Vale of Avoca ; and the double stream from the
Meeting of the Waters is known as the Avoca river.
The scenery of the County Wicklow cannot
be so easily described as that of Switzerland.
There are no such startling surprises in Wicklow
as in Switzerland — no snow-clad mountains or
2 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
glaciers, contrasting strongly with pine woods,
rich pastures, edelweiss, and wild flowers ; yet
Wicklow scenery has its own distinctive charms.
In spring or summer, more especially in bright
sunshine after rain, no more delightful excursion
could be taken than from Rathdrum through
the Vale of Clara to Glendalough, either by car,
carriage, or motor-car, or on foot or^ycling, though
the road is somewhat hilly. If the valley from
Rathdrum down the river to the sea at Arklow is
better wooded and more luxuriantly beautiful, the
view, about five or six miles from Rathdrum, in
Clara Vale, where Clara Bridge suddenly comes into
sight, is grander than anything in the Vale of Avoca.
About half a mile further on and above the road
are the ruins of the castle of the MacUThuils, or
MacTooles, or OTooles, who for many years were
the masters, if not strictly in law, certainly in fact, of
all this mountainous region. Another castle beyond
Laragh Bridge near Annamoe disputes the glory of
having been the stronghold of this once powerful
sept. The ruins of the castle at Annamoe are
curiously called Castle Kevin, whilst the ruins in
the Vale of Clara are known locally as King
O'Toole's Castle ; and the townland on which it
stands is Knockreagh, or King's Hill, corrupted into
Knockrath. Probably both castles were fortresses
against the English enemy, and were occupied by
the king according to the necessity of the times.
A mile or two higher up than the castle, and near
the heather on the wild mountain called the Castle
Hill, was erected in the seventeenth century a large
THE VALE OF CLARA. 3
Irish country house, built, as the greater number of
such houses were, of the massive stone of the district,
quite regardless of architectural effect, three stories
high, with a basement story, and the hall-door in the
centre. The demesne, or home-farm surrounding
the house, had a few oaks and ash-trees, and little
ornamentation. This house was built by Michael
Corbet, a captain in Cromwell's army, who got a
Crown grant of the forfeited estates in the valley.
He, having little means or assistance, built this house,
bounded off a farm round it, and set some portions of
the rest of the lands on long leases to his soldiers,
who paid him small rents, and acted as his bodyguard
against the so-called wild Irish. The greater part
of the lands contained in Corbet's grant remained
unoccupied and waste until the close of the
eighteenth or beginning of the nineteenth century,
when wheat rose to a great price after the American
War, and during the wars of the First Napoleon.
The Corbet of the period took advantage of this
rise in value to set all his remaining waste or
unoccupied land, and also some of his demesne, on
long leases at very high rents. He followed the
example of others of his class in so doing.
The old English settlers, called by O'Connell
" the English garrison," lived extravagantly, earned
little money, and married the daughters of other
settlers, getting no ready money — merely charges on
their neighbours' estates — by way of fortune, just as
their sisters had charges on their own estates. The
land was all any of them had to subsist on ; and its
value was, as a rule, eaten up by family charges
4 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
created in this way. This rise in value, owing to
war prices, was an irresistible temptation to the
letting of lands at high prices ; and it was then that
the bulk of the middlemen tenures was created.
The middlemen formed the squireen or small squire
class ; they built their residences on the best part of
their leasehold, and sublet the remainder to the
native inhabitants at still higher rents, and en-
couraged subdivision, as it increased their incomes.
This system of itself was enough to cause friction
and discontent ; and it was intensified by the
circumstance that the squires and squireens were
Protestants, and the occupiers, the sub-tenants,
Roman Catholics.
The Corbets for generations represented, by them-
selves or their nominees in the Irish Parliament,
their pocket borough of Kingscastle, consisting of a
few houses at their gate ; and finally at the Union
the then head of the house, who was one of the
members for his borough, received compensation for
the loss of his two seats, and also the titles of Earl
of Clara and Viscount Kingscastle. He had voted
for the Union.
One morning about eighty years ago, the Earl of
Clara, grandson of the first Earl, and his Countess
were conversing in the drawing-room of their house
called Kingscastle. The Earl was then about forty
years of age — a tall, soldierlike man, who had fought
at Waterloo ; a favourable specimen of his class ;
brave, with a great sense of his own importance;
but, so long as he was treated with sufficient
deference, kindly, very hospitable, more domestic
THE VALE OF CLARA. 5
and temperate than was usual at the period, a good
horseman and a keen sportsman, and a fairly sure
shot at a grouse. His Countess was an English-
woman, the daughter of an English Viscount. Like
many English wives imported into Ireland, she had
started with the resolve to do her best to improve
those whom she always believed to be " barbarous
people." She could not understand their suscepti-
bilities ; she under-rated their honesty ; she mistook
their exaggerations of speech for lies ; and she
regarded their religion as idolatrous.
The Earl and Countess had been married for
about fifteen years ; and their eldest son, Lord
Kingscastle, was away at school in England, preparing
for Eton. Their daughter, who came next, had, a
few years before, lost her life at a children's picnic in
Glendalough, by falling out of St. Kevin's Bed ; and
now they had twin sons, four months old. The
Countess had never recovered her cheerfulness after
the tragic death of her daughter, but had remained
since then a woman of a sorrowful spirit. She was
now striving to impress on her husband something
about which her mind had been exercised almost
since the birth of the twins — the necessity of having
them christened — nowadays a very easy matter ;
but it was quite different at that period. The living
of Kingscastle was in the gift of the Corbet family ;
and, as a matter of course, for generations a member
of the family was sent to Trinity College, Dublin,
and ordained for this parish. The present Vicar
was the Hon. Fitzroy Corbet, the brother of the Earl.
An intervening brother had died. The Vicar had
6 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
a fat canonry in Dublin, and did not reside in the
parish ; and when he did come, he lived at Kings-
castle. A Curate had lived at the vicarage, and had
performed service once a week in the church. He
had been dead now for over three months, and the
church was closed, unless when occasionally the
Canon came down, or while the Countess's brother,
an English clergyman, was over on a visit. The
Canon had not appointed a new curate, for two
reasons : first, the difficulty of getting one for the
small stipend he was willing to give ; and, secondly,
the difficulty of disposing of the widow and eight
children of the deceased Curate. They still remained
in the vicarage, having no other place to go to,
supported by gifts from the Canon, and the bounty
of the Countess. The Curate's wife was an Irish-
woman ; and the Countess never in the least
understood her, but she pitied her; and the poor
woman adored the Countess, and astonished that
quiet, undemonstrative lady by her extravagance
of language and gesture in showing her devotion
to her patroness.
" Supposing, Michael," said the Countess, address-
ing the Earl, "the boys should die without having
been baptized, what peace of mind would I
ever have? It would be worse than the loss of
dear Gerty."
Now the Earl had been devoted to his daughter ;
many thought he felt the accident even more than
the Countess, though he brushed the thought aside
some way. The baptism of the twins he considered
simply a form ; and possibly the Countess, in
THE VALE OF CLARA. 7
mentioning the death of their daughter to him, had
touched a sympathetic chord which the rites of the
Church never could. The Earl was what may be
termed an aristocratic Puritan. He regarded all
Methodists, Presbyterians, and Dissenters as vulgar.
He liked the choral services in St. Patrick's and
Christ Church Cathedrals, although he did not know
"the Old Hundredth" from " God Save the King" ;
he thought them proper, respectable, and savouring
of his rank. Still deep down in him was the Puritan.
He so hated and despised Popery, that anything at
all leading up to it he abhorred with all the con-
tempt and loathing of his Roundhead ancestor. He
believed baptism to be a proper rite amongst decent
Christian people ; but the ideas of the Countess on
the subject he repudiated vaguely as " Popery."
" Poor Gerty ! " said the Earl, " poor child ! and she
was so like my mother ! "
" That was a great sorrow to us, Michael," said
the Countess ; " ought we not now to do our duty
by our living children?"
The Earl was vanquished, partly by the recol-
lection of his little daughter, partly through his
ignorance of theology. Probably neither he nor
the Countess had definite views on the matter. The
Earl then said, with an air of resignation, " I will do
whatever you like. Fitzroy wrote that anyone can
baptize ; he need not be a clergyman."
Now the Countess did not like Fitzroy. He was
abler, better-educated, stronger-willed than the Earl ;
and he was the Earl's brains-carrier, or was joined to
Philip Thornton, the agent, in that capacity. He
8 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
had a way of putting her down as one not knowing
the country and being a foreigner.
" I think," said the Countess, " that christening by
a layman would be indecent and an outrage. Fitzroy
only told you that as an excuse for not attending to
his duties."
This speech nearly lost the Countess all her
conquered ground.
" I wish, Charlotte/' said the Earl, in his severest
tone, which meant he was the Earl of Clara, and
master of the Countess, the Glen, and all in it, "you
would not speak in that way of Fitzroy ; his great
gifts would be lost here."
The Countess saw her mistake, and looked out of
the window by way of gaining time, and recognized
the tall figure of Father Lawrence O'Toole, the
Parish Priest of Kingscastle, walking up the drive.
CHAPTER II.
THE BAPTISM OF THE TWINS.
FATHER O'TOOLE was a descendant of the old
Kings of the Valley. He had been educated on the
Continent, and was a welcome guest at " the great
house." The Countess, by way of dropping the
debatable subject of the christening which she and
the Earl had been discussing, quietly said : " Father
O'Toole is coming to pay us a visit."
The Earl was a good man, was fond of the
Countess, and hated any disagreement with her, and
in a quite changed voice cheerfully cried out : " He
is an ordained clergyman ; he can baptize them."
On most questions, except where the commercial
instinct is aroused, the Irish in debate, whether in
Parliament or the domestic circle, by quickness and
audacity vanquish their slower-thinking rulers ; and,
above all, in theology, the English are nowhere with
them. The Countess never thought of anyone except
an ordained Church of England or Church of Ireland
minister, as by law established, performing the
ceremony ; and here Father O'Toole was suddenly
sprung upon her. Before she could collect her scat-
tered thoughts, Father O'Toole was announced. He
entered as an old friend, with the easy, pleasing, and
courtly manners of the foreign-educated priest of
gentle birth. He had come to soften the Earl's
10 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
heart about one of the few Roman Catholic occupying
tenants which the Earl had.
" I do not like," said the Earl, " to meddle with
Thornton ; still I will speak to him about it."
Father O'Toole thanked him, and, turning to the
Countess, inquired for the twins.
"By the way, Father O'Toole," interrupted the
Earl, "the Countess is very uneasy about having
them baptized ; could you do it for us ? You would
not, of course " (laughing), " claim them afterwards
for your own Church."
Father O'Toole, though he did not unnecessarily
obtrude his religious views on his Protestant neigh-
bours, never, in word or deed, forgot his faith or his
calling. He at once became serious, and every inch
the priest, and answered gravely : " Baptism, my
Lord, is a sacrament — a solemn rite of your Church
as well as mine; we believe in its necessity and
efficacy, and in an emergency we are bound to
perform the ceremony, which cannot be idly repeated.
I suppose you and your gracious lady, my friend the
Countess, would not allow the rite to be performed
in the cabin we have for our church ; and I cannot,
of course, enter your church for any purpose ; still I
can perform it in this room." Then (smiling), " My
friend the Canon admits the validity of my orders,
though, I am sorry to say, he differs from some of
my opinions."
The Countess personally liked Father O'Toole;
his gradeuse manner suited her — a contrast to her
own. He never sneered at England ; and, above all,
her genuinely kind heart sympathized with his in
THE BAPTISM OF THE TWINS. II
caring for the poor, and many a consultation they
had about " feeding the hungry." She answered,
after a pause : " We are greatly indebted to you for
coming to our relief." She said this in faltering
accents, and looking kindly at the priest ; still, being
a thorough conservative, she would have liked the
ceremony performed in an orthodox way in the
Protestant Church by a clergyman of her own faith.
" We expect the Dijons to lunch," she added.
" Well," rejoined the Earl, " they will only be a
congregation."
Immediately afterwards a Mr.Malet was announced.
Without any betrayal of good breeding, it was
evident he was not only an uninvited but also an
undesired guest. Mr. Ambrose Malet was the
grandson of a middleman who had got, about forty
years previously, several leases, for lives renewable
for ever, of a considerable extent of poor land and
mountain liberty from the Earl's grandfather at high
rents, just when the upward turn in prices and rents
began. He was above the middle height, of a
powerful and also active build. He had a handsome,
coarse face, with the healthy, embrowned colour
which the Wicklow air gives. He was about thirty
years old, an unmarried man, who lived near the
Castle. Being a younger son, with some vague idea
of his getting a profession, he had entered Trinity
College, Dublin, where he became more distinguished
for " town and gown " rows than for learning.
The Earl's brother, the Canon, who was several
years older, was just finishing his studies when Malet
entered College ; and the latter saved him from
12 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
being killed in a fight with the town roughs at King
William's statue in College Green, round which the
College Boys were marching in triumph after the
public entry of a new Lord Lieutenant.
Malet left college without a degree. By the death
of an elder brother — who died from the effects of a
blow he had received in levying a distress for rent —
and by that of his father soon after, he became the
owner of the leaseholds. He farmed the cultivated
enclosed land he had in his own possession, grazed the
mountain, collected the rents as best he could from
his sub-tenants, and jobbed in cattle and horses. He
was a daring rider and the crack shot of the district.
The Earl was really fond of him. Malet knew how
to manage his landlord ; he never forgot he was the
Earl. The Earl had a right of shooting over Malet's
lands and mountain, and also other mountains which
were unleased, and on which the Earl's occupying
tenants had rights of grazing. Malet always accom-
panied the Earl in the shooting season, leaving to his
superior lord the easy shots, and taking himself the
harder ones. But for Malet's prowess, the bag would
have been light at the end of the day. He, without
any salary or appointment, acted as the Earl's head
keeper. The regular staff of gamekeepers took their
directions from him, and his visit on the present
occasion was to report an audacious case of poaching.
He had scarcely arrived when the Count Dijon and
his wife entered the room.
The Count, though Irish, looked like a foreigner.
He had been reared on the Continent, and spoke
English with a foreign accent. He was a dis-
THE BAPTISM OF THE TWINS. 13
tinguished-looking, well-bred man. His name was
Molloy ; and his very remote ancestor had come a
couple of centuries before from the King's County,
and had married an heiress of the O'Byrne family,
who almost rivalled the Royal House of O'Toole in
importance in the district and in vast possessions of
land. The Count was a noble of the Holy Roman
Empire, and inherited through his mother an estate
in the Sabine Hills and a large quantity of more
portable property. His wife, who was always called
the Marchesa — a title she was supposed to have
obtained through her father, an Italian — had inherited
vast wealth through her mother, a Spaniard of noble
birth. The Marchesa was born and reared in Spain,
called herself a Spaniard, and was genuinely one in
appearance and bearing. She was handsome and
haughty-looking, despised Ireland and the Irish,
and did not conceal her indifference to what she
considered the petty subjects which interested the
people amongst whom she lived.
The Dijons were the Earl's nearest neighbours.
They lived in Glenmalure, just over the watershed
which separates the Vale of Clara from Glenmalure.
Their Italian-looking residence, known as Chateau
Dijon, was built high up on the mountain-side of
Glenmalure Valley, and not far distant from Kings-
castle when approached by a wild, steep road which
spans the mountain top and is a connecting link
between the Vale of Clara and Glenmalure. Chateau
Dijon stood on the only remaining portion of the
once large estates of the O'Byrne family which
remained in the Count's possession, and consisted of
14 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
a few acres of arable land and a grouse mountain,
which at its top bordered on the highest point of
the Earl's estate.
Lunch was postponed, and the twins were sent for.
One of them was carried in by Mrs. Simpson, the
Curate's widow, for the simple reason that she was the
only person who could quiet him. She had been
present at his birth, and, being an experienced woman
in such matters, was constantly in the nursery of the
big house. An ordinary nurse carried the other
twin; and an assistant followed. At the same
time a young girl of about twenty-five summers
came into the room. She was the Lady Violet
Manning, daughter of the Marquis of Wrekin — a
fine-looking, handsome English girl, with masses of
golden hair.
Father O'Toole asked for the elder of the two,
remarking, " We must not put Ephraim before
Manasseh."
To which Mrs. Simpson answered, " I hold
Manasseh, who is not only the elder but the finer
of the two ; he will always be known by the mark
on his arm."
The elder child was then christened Stephen, from
time immemorial the name of the second son in the
Corbet family ; and subsequently the younger child
was christened George, the name of the late Lord
Dartmoor, the Countess's father.
Father O'Toole registered the births in a book he
carried ; and the ceremony being over, the party
partook of an old-fashioned luncheon. The Earl
invited Malet. Without very marked discourtesy he
THE BAPTISM OF THE TWINS. 15
could not have been left out. The Countess had
never liked Malet, and latterly she had used every
device to discourage his visits.
Lady Violet Manning was an unimportant younger
daughter of the Marchioness of Wrekin, a great
friend of the Countess. Lady Violet had the year
before been invited over to Dublin for the Castle
festivities, and had come down to Kingscastle and
lingered on there. She was a bold whip, and, with
merely a page-boy attendant, drove, on one occasion,
a very high gig into Rathdrum. The horse took fright
when entering the town, and ran away, and, as the
accident happened one market day, must inevitably
have brought the gig into collision with some
other vehicle had not Malet, at the risk of his life,
rushed into the road, and stopped the horse. Lady
Violet was so unnerved that she gladly accepted
Malet's offer to drive her home. Malet, of course,
had to call to inquire whether she had recovered.
He, from being a very irregular attendant at church,
became, whenever there was a service, as constant
and as diligent as the veteran parish clerk. He had
a fine bass voice and a good ear, and sat next Lady
Violet in what they playfully called the choir. To
the Countess's horror, Malet was invited to singing
practices which were not always limited to Church
music, and very friendly relations soon became
established between the young people. Lady Violet
laughed at the Countess's cautions, and excused her-
self on the plea that there were no other young men
in the neighbourhood for her to talk to and sing with.
Malet and Lady Violet had been god-parents to
!6 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
one of the twins, or gossips, as she called them, and
they sat together at lunch.
The conversation turned on the great topics of the
day — the proposed Catholic Emancipation and the
tithe war, just commencing. The Earl was, for those
days, very liberal in his politics.
When the ladies retired to allow the gentlemen to
have a little more wine, Malet was eagerly questioned
as to the grouse prospects. He gave a critical
account of them, and explained that he had shot off
the old bachelor cocks at the end of the last season,
which disturbed the pairing, and that he had also
destroyed the vermin.
A bench of magistrates was then and there
arranged, or packed, some might call it, to meet at
Kingscastle in the ensuing week to try the poacher,
the sentence being freely discussed and settled before
the trial. It was felt that an example should be
made, and that, as the man was a notorious poacher,
whatever he had done on this special occasion for
which he was to be tried did not matter much.
After the sentence was settled satisfactorily, the
gentlemen returned to the drawing-room. Father
O'Toole, who had an excellent voice, well trained,
sang Moore's melody, " By that lake whose gloomy
shore " ; and Malet followed in a fine, though un-
trained, voice with " The wind that shakes the
barley." This last song being vehemently encored
by everyone except the Countess, Malet sang
Moore's rather amatory sonnet, " Rosa," to the
accompaniment of Lady Violet on the pianoforte.
They had evidently had a rehearsal together
THE BAPTISM OF THE TWINS. I?
previously, and Malet sang it far more correctly than
his first song.
The impromptu christening party soon afterwards
broke up. When the visitors had left, the Countess
said in her severest tones, " Really, Violet, that song
for which you played the accompaniment is not fit
for a drawing-room."
If the poor Countess thought she had extinguished
Lady Violet, she was completely mistaken, for she
answered gaily, " Charlotte, pray do not be prudish,
I heard Mr. Moore himself sing it to some of the
best people in Dublin, at Lady Balbriggan's, in
Merrion Square."
" If you heard it in the King's palace, that would
not make it a proper song."
" Tut, tut, Charlotte," said the Earl ; " poor Malet
only wanted to amuse us ; you are making too much
of it."
Lady Violet murmured quietly, "'Honi soit qui
mal y pense'"; and the subject was dropped.
CHAPTER III.
FATHER O'TOOLE.
A NEAT cottage close to the big house was the
residence of the Parish Priest, Father O'Toole. At
the time our tale commences he was about forty
years of age. He was descended from the senior
and most important branch of the oldest family in
the district. He talked but little of his royal race ;
still he was quietly proud of being sprung from a
line of kings, He considered the true way of
spelling his name was " MacU'Thuil," anglicised into
MacToole or O'Toole. He maintained laughingly
that the English had taken away not only his
country, but also his language. He deplored the
extinction of the Irish language in the County
Wicklow. He said that all true poetry and music
had gone with it ; that Tommy Moore wrote merely
good company songs, not heart-stirring poems like
those which were sung to the old Irish harps.
Father O'Toole had a fine baritone voice, and
could accompany himself on one of these harps — a
kind of heirloom in his family. He was proud of
the fact that there was finer singing in his poor little
thatched chapel than in the grander parish church.
He had been adopted by an uncle who had made a
considerable fortune in the Wicklow timber trade,
FATHER O'TOOLE. 19
and had spent the closing years of his life in the
cottage in which Father O'Toole now lived. This
was not a parochial house. It stood on about thirty
acres of land, and was held in fee. Father O'Toole
said that his ancestors had owned the valley of
Glendalough as well as that of Clara, and had
granted Glendalough to St. Kevin to found his
ecclesiastical city. His uncle was disappointed at
first when his heir, whom he had sent to school in
France, declared he would become a monk. Finding
him firm on this point, he yielded, and sent him to
Coimbra, in Portugal, to the Augustinian monastery
which flourished there. Here he met James Warren
Doyle, afterwards the famous Bishop of Kildare and
Leighlin. Dr. Doyle, by his powerful will and great
intellectual abilities, acquired considerable influence
over young Lawrence O'Toole, and persuaded him
to return to Ireland.
Father O'Toole was at first Curate in the parish of
which he afterwards became the Parish Priest ; he
preferred the comparative obscurity of his native
parish to any more prominent position. He was an
accomplished linguist, and a particularly good Irish
scholar ; and he was familiar with the folk-lore of
the valleys of Clara and Glendalough, and with the
ancient history of the old ecclesiastical remains. It
was the dream of his life to erect a church worthy
of the locality ; and at this time he had collected a
considerable sum towards that great object. Count
Dijon had subscribed munificently. The Earl of
Clara and Canon Corbet, and many of the Protes*
tants in the district, were also subscribers. Father
30 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
O'Toole had troops of friends, but no enemies.
Like many of the Roman Catholic clergy of that
period, he was a Freemason. He was, in fact, the
Chaplain of his lodge in Rathdrum ; Count Dijon,
the Earl of Clara, and Canon Corbet being also
members of it. Malet was not a member ; he said
he refused to join. This statement was doubted, and
the Freemasons could not be drawn on the subject.
Malet was Secretary of the Orange Lodge, and always
looked well in .his orange sash on the I2th of July.
Through the combined influence of Father O'Toole
and the Earl, the procession on that memorable
yearly festival always passed off peaceably.
As the Bull of Clement XII had not been enforced,
there was no real prohibition at this period against a
Roman Catholic joining the Masonic body ; nor was
there until Garibaldi's revolution. It was then
suspected by the Roman Catholic hierarchy that the
Italian Freemasons were in sympathy with the
Carbonari Society which supported Garibaldi ; and
a general order was issued against Roman Catholics
continuing in or joining this ancient brotherhood.
This command was loyally obeyed in Ireland. The
Irish Freemasons never as a body interfered in
politics, nor were they ever accused of doing
so ; and the fact of the Roman Catholics
faithfully obeying their Church's decree by resign-
ing their membership shows conclusively that
Freemasonry does not sap or meddle with the
religious faith of its members. It, however, exacts
the all-important fundamental conditions of a belief
in an Almighty God and -the immortality of the
FATHER O'TOOLE. 21
soul. It is very probable that the determined
hostility of the Roman Catholic Church to Free-
masonry since the Italian revolution was the moving
cause which, about thirty years ago, induced two-
thirds of the Masonic Lodges in France to take the
fatal step of altering their constitution so as to
dispense with the necessity of the profession of a
belief in God. It must not be assumed that all or
even any of the members of these lodges were
necessarily atheists ; still such action forced the
other lodges all over the world to wholly discon-
tinue fraternal communication with the Grand
Lodge of France.
Shortly after the christening party mentioned in
our first chapter, Father O'Toole was sitting at
breakfast in his cottage with his friend, Dr. Doyle,
who was then Bishop of Kildare and Leighlin.
When he wanted a rest and human sympathy,
the Bishop came over to see his old chum.
They were both glad that Kingscastle was in
the Diocese of Glendalough, and not in Kildare or
Leighlin, for they met, as of old, on an equal footing.
Father O'Toole, when they were quite alone, and
only then, still called the austere Bishop " Jemmy."
He rarely visited Carlow, and took no part, except
in private conversation, in the stirring events of
the day.
As they sat over their chocolate — a reminder of
their Portuguese life — they offered a striking contrast
to each other. Both were tall, dignified men, with
intellectual faces ; there, however, the resemblance
ceased, Father O'Toole had a kindly, benevolent
22 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
countenance, beaming with geniality. He looked
in perfect health, arising from his quiet, reposeful
life, conscious that, in his own way, he was
doing good, and contented with his lot. On the
other hand, even in retirement, the Bishop had a
restless, eager, anxious, combative expression. He
never had the hardy constitution of his friend ; and he
overtaxed his delicate body by unceasing mental and
physical work, more than sufficient for a herculean
frame.
We will not attempt to intrude on their private
conversation. Having agreed to accept an invitation
to dine with Count Dijon and the Marchesa, they
took a long, delightful walk to Glendalough, and
through its sacred buildings.
CHAPTER IV.
THE FAMOUS J. K. L.
THE Chateau Dijon was a far more imposing
building than Kingscastle. It was built after the
plan of an Italian mansion early in the eighteenth
century, and the cost of its erection nearly ruined its
owner. Artists came from Italy to decorate it ; and
it commanded a grand view of the whole of Glenma-
lure. The exterior, on account of the damp climate,
did not allow of the large windows and verandahs
and appearance of open-air life characteristic of the
Italian country mansion ; but inside it was com-
pletely southern and foreign in its decoration and
furniture.
Small as this remnant of the O'Byrne estates was,
it would not have been in the possession of Count
Dijon except for evasions of the law which would
now be considered justifiable. The penal laws
enabled a member of the family on turning Protestant
to become an informer, and as such to claim the
estate of his or her Roman Catholic relation. The
authentic records reveal a surprising number of
properties forfeited and claimed in this way. The
last of the O'Byrnes, who lived on the lands in an old
house, pulled down to erect the Chateau Dijon, and
father .of the heiress who married a Molloy, had a
deaf old mother living with him, It was rumoured
24 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
that Patsy O'Byrne, an attorney and a cousin of the
family a great man for interminable lawsuits and
equally long bills — was about to conform and claim
the little estate. The matter was well talked about
in the living-room of the O'Byrnes ; and all the time
old Mother O'Byrne sat bent up in her armchair in
the ingle-nook, telling her beads and crooning to
herself. One day she surprised the party by
suddenly asking : " Has skelly-eyed Patsy turned
Protestant?"
Being told that he had done so, she then asked
another question ; " If I turned, Jerry " (to her son),
" I might get the estate before him ? "
" Of course you would, mother," said Jerry : " you
are nearer related."
" Then I will, Jerry," said she ; "it is better that one
old woman's soul should be damned than that the
place should go out of the right line ; and may the
curse of the Holy Trinity rest on Patsy !"
She conformed accordingly, got the estate, and
preserved it for her son. A similar rumour
became current after the Molloys got the property ;
and then the Corbet of the day, and his successors
after him, until this iniquitous penal code was
relaxed, continued to hold the estate under an
honourable trust for the Dijon family. In doing
this they only followed the example of many other
Protestants throughout Ireland (especially in Con-
naught), which shows that more sympathy with the
defenceless Roman Catholics existed amongst the
Protestants than they were credited with in England
and on the Continent of Europe.
THE FAMOUS J. K. L. 2$
The Count and the Marchesa had some of the
neighbouring Roman Catholic clergy to meet, the
Bishop of Kildare and Leighlin and his host, Father
O'Toole. The only Protestant present was an old
maiden cousin of the Count, who lived according to
the easy, hospitable habit of the day, shuling about
(as the phrase was) amongst her relatives, having no
fixed home of her own, and who was at this time
staying at the Chateau.
The Bishop was not at his ease in ordinary society,
although he could relax with Father O'Toole, or
some of his intimate friends or relatives. He was
really the most kind-hearted and large-hearted of
men ; but he was always possessed of overmastering
ideas and projects which banished all small-talk, and
he was absolutely intolerant of stupidity, or what
may be called the side-issues or immaterial details of
a question. He was for grasping tightly the nettle,
and not playing with it. Having just enjoyed a
few days' rest, he was this evening in his best
form, and indeed, almost to the end of his short life,
he showed that he possessed wonderful recuperative
powers. He was a bad conversationalist, inasmuch
as he kept all the talking to himself; but he was
tolerated in this on account of his remarkable person-
ality, and also because he was invariably instructive,
original, and interesting. His dark, piercing eyes
and fine face, like one of Murillo's pictures of the
Spanish friars, fascinated his audience. His great
topic on this night was the unity of Christendom.
Here are a few extracts from his conversation : —
" Should I live to witness its accomplishment "
26 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
(that is the unity of Christendom), he exclaimed,
" I would say with holy Simeon, ' Nowthou dost dis-
miss Thy servant, O Lord, according to Thy word in
peace, because my eyes have seen Thy salvation.' "
He then continued : " It may not become so
humble an individual as I am to hint even at a plan
for effecting so great a purpose as the union of
Catholics and Protestants in one great family of
Christians ; but as the difficulty does not appear to
me to be at all proportioned to the magnitude of the
object to be attained, I would presume to state that
if Protestant and Catholic divines of learning and
a conciliatory character were summoned by the
Crown to ascertain the points of agreement and
difference between the Churches, and if the result
of their conferences were made the basis of a pro-
ject to be treated on between the heads of the
Churches of Rome and of England, the result
might be more favourable than at present would be
anticipated."
Here, the Prelate having paused for breath,
the Count contrived to interpose, " The result would
be another Thirty Years' War."
The Bishop glared on his host, forgetting that he
was partaking of his hospitality, and evidently antici-
pating a duel with a narrow-minded antagonist at
his proposed Round-table Conference, and then
added: " It is pride and points of honour which keep
us divided on many subjects, not a love of Christian
humility, charity, and truth."
No one dared to interrupt again, and the Bishop
glided off into the kindred question, that, even if
THE FAMOUS J. K. L. 27
there could not be a union of beliefs, there ought to
be a common secular education, pointing out that it
would be the best preparation for a unity of Churches,
and concluded : " I do not see how any man, wishing
well to the public peace, and who looks to Ireland
as his country, can think that that peace can ever
be permanently established, or the prosperity of the
country secured, if children are separated at the
beginning of life on account of their religious
opinions."
Father O'Toole, fearing perhaps another little
scene between the Bishop and their host, dexterously
managed to turn the subject to the question whether
St. Patrick ever visited Glendalough, and this drew
out the Bishop on the point whether, as in the case
of Homer, some at least of the deeds attributed to
St. Patrick were not the doings of less-known men
which were joined to his well-known and authenti-
cated actions. The Bishop was eagerly proceeding
to show why the probability was that no one man
could have accomplished them all, when he was
pulled up from a wholly unexpected quarter.
Whilst the rest of the company, to the neglect of
their repast, were absorbed in listening to the Bishop's
remarks on the burning questions of the unity of
Christendom and national education, Miss Rhoda
Jameson, the maiden cousin, had been making an
excellent dinner, and had drunk a couple of glasses
of fine old crusted port. She, however, having appar-
ently satisfied her creature comforts, directed her
attention to the Bishop's remarks about St. Patrick ;
and at last, breaking into the middle of one of his
28 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
measured sentences, she exclaimed, " I can listen to
this no longer. There could only be one St. Patrick.
He was a Protestant, and a most respectable man,
and a near relative of [with decided emphasis] my
family." Saying this with great dignity, and looking
scornfully at the amazed Bishop, she left the table
.and the room.
The incident, however, resulted in perfect harmony.
The Count tapped his forehead and said, " Poor
Rhoda is not quite accountable."
Father O'Toole smiled, and took a pinch of snuff
from his gold box.
The Bishop laughed, and the rest of the company
tried to appear unconscious of what had occurred.
The ladies, Continental fashion, remained at the
table. Coffee was handed round. The Marchesa
sang a Spanish song, and Father O'Toole some Irish
melodies ; and the entertainment ended in perfect
good-humour.
Dr. Doyle's Life has been well written by the
late Mr. W. J. Fitzpatrick ; and a sketch of him by
Mr. Michael MacDonagh gives, in a pithy, interesting
way, the salient points of his too short and remark-
able career. Daniel O'Connell is justly called " the
Liberator " ; still, if Catholic Emancipation could not
have been carried without him, it is perhaps equally
certain that it could not have been carried without
Dr. Doyle. His famous letters under the nom de
plume " J. K. L.," his striking individuality, his exami-
nation before the Parliamentary Committee, largely
assisted O'Connell's more popular measures. It may
well be questioned whether after his examination on
THE FAMOUS J. K. L. 29
the tithe question the thoughtful English people may
not have reflected on the cruel absurdity of penalising
a religion which had so great a Prelate. Macaulay
compares Ignatius Loyola with John Wesley;
Dr. Doyle may well be placed with either of them.
Wesley's sermons to the Cornish miners were fully
equalled by Doyle's to the Queen's County colliers.
Dr. Doyle asserted that tithes were originally the
property of the poor and not of the clergy ; and he
recommended passive resistance to the payment of
them. In doing this, he only adopted the tactics of
the Quakers. Passive resistance against similar pay-
ments has now been so generally adopted, that the
ingenuity of the Legislature is sorely tired in devising
" conscience clauses," to protect persons from the
consequences of breaking what they honestly regard
as unrighteous laws. Dr. Doyle's denunciation of
tithes was accepted in a way that he had not
anticipated. The tithe rebellion led to a revival
of Whiteboyism in his diocese, chiefly in the colliery
district of the Queen's County, where the Whiteboys
were known as " Whitefeet." Dr. Doyle, dressed in
his episcopal robes, preached in the open chapel-yards
on the colliery hills to large congregations of wild
and excited people. He boldly denounced lawless
violence as a crime not only against the laws of
man, but also against the laws of God. His efforts
in the end met with great success ; but the strain
caused by worry of mind completely broke down his
feeble health, and " burst his mighty heart " ; and he
died at the early age of forty-eight — a great loss to
the country he loved so well.
30 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
He did not believe that there were " two Irelands,"
one Roman Catholic, the other Protestant. He even
had visions of a unity of Christendom, or, if that
could not be attained, he held that the youth of
the country should be brought up together, a united
race for a common fatherland.
Whether or not these views were Utopian and
impracticable, they were the views of a large-hearted
Irishman. Catholic Emancipation is now, no doubt,
regarded by all reasonable people as a measure of
justice, or, at all events, as a measure which was
inevitable. It surely emancipated more people than
the Irish Roman Catholics ; it led to the admission
of the Jews into the British Parliament ; it widened
the tone of thought in that assembly ; and by
exposing to the piercing light of public opinion
similar intolerance in other countries, freed them also
from their penal laws ; and, as a recent example,
Dr. Doyle's and O'Connell's efforts in Ireland have
rendered possible the consecration of a Protestant
Bishop in Spain.
CHAPTER V.
THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE.
LADY VIOLET MANNING had been easily persuaded
by the Countess to remain longer than was originally
intended. She was not missed at home, where there
was a superfluity of daughters. She was company
for the Countess : a fine, bouncing, healthy, young
Englishwoman ; if she had not herself much nimble-
ness of wit, she laughed heartily at the wit of others.
Notwithstanding the accident from which Malet had
rescued her, she drove and rode fearlessly ; she
actually learned to shoot under Malet's instructions.
She showed herself capable also of more serious
things. She taught some of the peasant children to
read ; and she acted generally as daughter of the
house in Kingscastle.
Malet, one way or another, was a good deal about
the castle, apparently making himself useful to its
master ; and the Countess had ceased to think there
could be anything serious between Lady Violet and
him, when one day, after a talk with Malet, the
Earl sought the Countess alone, and, with a solemn
face, and perhaps a twinkle in his high-born eyes,
said, " Charlotte, Malet has been with me."
" I know he has," was the answer ; "he haunts the
house. I am glad that he is not inflicted on us at
lunch to-day."
32 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
" It is more than lunch this time," said the Earl.
" Surely, Michael," said the Countess, " you have
not invited him to meet the Archbishop to-morrow."
" I have not," said the Earl. " He has asked my
permission and yours to speak to Violet."
" Then he has the audacity and ignorance to think
he can marry her ? Of course, Michael, you gave him
his answer, and he will trouble the girl no more ?"
"Certainly, Charlotte," said the Earl, "he sur-
prised me ; still, to do the, man justice, it was
straightforward for him to speak to me first."
" I cannot see what use there was in it," said the
Countess. She was English, and slow to form a
decided opinion ; but when once roused, as the Earl
often found to his cost, she was obstinate and impos-
sible to change or appease. After a pause, she con-
tinued :
" Violet is to blame for letting him attend her as
he has been doing ; she would soon have given him
his answer if he had spoken to her."
The Earl was glad of an excuse to end the con-
versation, which was getting too hot, and said, " Then,
in Heaven's name, let Violet answer him." He rang
the bell, and Violet having been summoned from the
grounds, where she was inquiring after her horse,
entered the room the picture of health and good-
humour.
" Violet," said the Countess, " Mr. Malet has just
been here."
" Indeed, so I heard," was the quick reply : " it is
too provoking ; I wanted to see him. Tulip walks a
little lame."
THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 33
" You make too much use of Mr. Malet, Violet,"
said the Countess severely ; " and now a very un-
pleasant thing has happened. You are not free from
blame; still I did not think he would presume so far."
" Why, Charlotte, what on earth has happened ? "
exclaimed the girl.
" He has asked," continued the Countess, " to be
allowed to propose to you. Of course Michael will
write and tell him it is impossible : except for its
being necessary for you to break off your intimacy
with him, we would not have mentioned the matter
at all. It must be kept from Fitzroy, the Dijons,
and everybody else. Too much familiarity with such
people is one of the faults of our class in Ireland. No
common farmer in England would presume to act
so ; he would know his position better."
This was a long speech for the usually reticent
Countess. The Earl's eyes, if they had not done so
before, now actually twinkled ; he took care, however,
to turn his face away from his wife. He just said :
" Come now, Violet, what do you say ? "
Violet blushed, held down her head, and answered
shyly : " Well, Michael, I would like to think about
it."
" Violet," actually screamed the astonished
Countess, " do you forget what is due to your family
and to us, if not to yourself? "
If the delinquent had been cajoled and wheedled a
little, the result possibly, though not probably, might
have been different. As, however, she was a girl with
a will of her own, the Countess, by taking the opposite
course, only defeated her own object.
D
34 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
" Charlotte," she said stiffly, " Mr. Malet has paid
me the highest compliment a man can pay a woman."
" On the contrary," interposed the Countess, " he
has insulted you."
Violet continued, not heeding the interruption : " I
certainly shall write to my father about it. You,
Charlotte, have been very good to me ; still this is a
question for my father."
" Then," said the Countess, trying to be calm,
" you will accept him." She knew that the Marquis
of Wrekin had no fortunes to give his numerous
daughters, and he had never met Malet. Violet's
mother was dead, and there were no relatives who
would oppose what seemed to the Countess an
outrageous alliance. The girl's writing to her father
had then only one meaning.
But for the Countess's opposition, Violet would not
have made up her mind so quickly. She was a
strong-minded girl, not given, as a rule, to the melting
mood. She would, however, have been more than
human if she had not broken down after a proposal
of marriage had been so conveyed to her, and so
treated by her nearest friend ; and she burst into tears.
This, as might be expected, brought the Earl to her
aid. He went over, patted her golden head soothingly,
and said : " Whatever you decide on doing, Vi, count
on me as your friend."
" I suppose," said the Countess indignantly, " that
means that I am the silly, infatuated girl's enemy.
You do not realize, foolish child, what you are doing —
what people you will be thrown amongst — that odious
man's vulgar sisters ; his pigsty of a house — a man
THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 35
without any means to maintain you in the position
to which you have been accustomed."
" Charlotte," said the Earl, " I think, for the present,
the least said the soonest mended. Vi will write to
her father. Meanwhile I shall civilly ask Malet not
to come here."
This ended an unpleasant scene.
CHAPTER VI.
DINNER AT KINGSCASTLE.
IN the course of the year following Malet's request
to be permitted to pay his addresses to Violet, they
were married. The marriage took place in the
parish church adjoining the Marquis of Wrekin's
castle and demesne in Shropshire.
Neither the Earl nor the Countess, nor any friend
or relative of Malet's, attended the wedding. In
those days a journey to England was more formidable
than it is now ; and the match was not what might be
considered an ideal one. The financial arrangements
were never exactly divulged. A couple of the
judgments on Malet's leaseholds were cleared off; his
sisters went to live in Dublin with their married
sister, the wife of a well-to-do attorney ; the house
was done up, the roof was newly slated, and things,
as often happens, did not turn out so badly as
anticipated. Once the step became inevitable, the
Countess became kind and helpful. She had never
liked Malet. Had he been a Papist, she would have
made allowances for him ; being of the true faith, she
thought he had no excuse for being boastful, pleasure-
loving, thriftless, and regardless of the grades of
society.
DINNER AT KINGSCASTLE. 37
Violet settled down in her own house far better
than an English Marquis's daughter of the present
day would have done. Wrekin Castle was too far
from London to allow of its owner, with a large
family, presenting his daughter at Court. Trips to
Switzerland, shopping in Paris, were then, for a poor
nobleman's daughter, out of the question.
Malet, notwithstanding the Countess's dislike of
him, was a good-natured, kind husband. The match
was a love match on his part. He was proud of
having married a peer's daughter. As events proved,
it would have been better for him to have won a
bride in his own rank.
Shortly after the marriage, when the couple had
returned home, there was another gathering at
Kingscastle. It may appear to the reader that our
characters are always1 eating and drinking. Well,
the Irish are a sociable race ; and you, perhaps, see
them at their best round the festive board. On this
occasion the event was a dinner-party — an annual
event on the iQth August, the eve of the old day for
the commencement of grouse-shooting in Ireland.
The company included the Earl and Countess,
Mr. and Lady Violet Malet, the Count Dijon and
the Marchesa, Father O'Toole, and the Rev. Fitzroy
Corbet, Canon of St. Sepulchre's and Vicar of
Kingscastle. The Canon was a good-looking man, a
fair specimen of the aristocratic churchman of his
day. He was a clever man, loyal to his creed, good-
natured, and generous. In his defence it must be
said he was only Vicar of Kingscastle, and got
merely the parsonage and lesser tithes. His brother,
38 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
the Earl, was the lay Rector, and with the greater
tithes received the lion's share of the profits of the
living. Next to Malet, the Canon was the best
grouse-shot. At the annual shoots, for the first day
or two he was short in the wind, and a little un-
certain ; but then at the end of the opening week his
daily contributions to the bag formed a very good
second to Malet's.
The dinner hour was the unusually late one,
for that period, of six o'clock. This hour was
fixed to allow of the Canon's arrival by coach from
Dublin.
Young Lord Kingscastle — a handsome boy of
about twelve years old — was home for the holidays,
and in the drawing-room when the company met.
He, of course, bore the patronymic Michael, or
Mick, to distinguish him from his father. The
twins, the Hon. Stephen and the Hon. George
Corbet, were brought in to be shown to the
company : they looked to the general view, exactly
alike.
The poor Countess was greatly put out. In those
days Irish ladies of the highest rank had to attend
far more to household and culinary matters than at
present. The wages of domestic servants were
probably not more than a fourth of those paid
nowadays. The "girls" were good-humoured and
willing, but generally wholly ignorant of the special-
ities of their calling. The Countess had succeeded
in training one girl, after a couple of years' careful
supervision, to be a tolerable plain cook. On the
morning of her dinner-party, Countess of Clara
DINNER AT KINGSCASTLE. 39
though she was, she descended to the kitchen
regions, and found the cooking utensils not as clean
and shining as her neat English ways made her
think necessary. Looking into a corner, where it
might have been more prudent if she had not
ventured, she drew forth a saucepan, filled with the
remains of a previous dinner, and remarked, " Julia,"
this is just a dirty Irish trick."
" Your ladyship then," said the indignant servant,
"may get another cook ; I will not stand any abuse of
my country." She at once, with the thoughtlessness
and recklessness of her nation, walked out of the
house. The Countess in her distress sent over for
Lady Violet Malet, and they two, with the assistance
of a couple of shock-headed, grinning scullery-maids,
got the dinner cooked and served. The Countess
looked tired and troubled ; our friend Violet radiant
and full of banter with the Canon and reproaches for
not going over to Wrekin to marry her.
The Canon inquired of his sister-in-law how they
liked the new Curate. He was very wrathful when
he heard he had not officiated for the last couple of
Sundays ; and why was that ? he asked angrily.
The Countess replied quietly : " Because he could
not appear."
"Could not appear!" said the Canon ; "even if he
was in debt (I heard he was hard up), he could go out
on a Sunday."
" It is not that, poor man," said the Countess ; " his
wife is ill, expecting an event ; the youngest little
girl had a bad rash, and Mr. Connor wiped her face
with his pocket-handkerchief and caught the rash
40 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
himself. They are honest, Fitzroy, and very poor.
I believe they have managed to pay their debts ; and
if Mr. Simpson had eight, they already have six
children.
The Canon next day privately gave the Countess
ten guineas to be laid out for the benefit of the
family, with the stipulation that his name was not to
be mentioned. Father O'Toole had been supplying
them with presents of potatoes all through that hard
time in Ireland when the old potatoes were nearly
all gone and the new ones were not yet fit for
digging.
The party sat down to an excellent old-fashioned
dinner, which did credit to the high-born cook. The
chit-chat was very different from that of the present
day. The Canon was fond of sounding Father
O'Toole as to Dr. Doyle's wide, comprehensive
views on questions of the day; and, to his credit,
they were in many points the same as his own. The
Canon, however, differed from Bishop Doyle on the
education question, being a strong advocate of
primary denominational education. He also objected
strongly to the prejudiced views (as he considered
them) of most of his clerical brethren regarding
Roman Catholics ; and, being an ardent churchman,
was, in theory at least, not averse to Dr. Doyle's
views on the unity of Christendom. The Canon
listened to others talking, and was genial and
pleasant, and, so long as the ladies were at the table,
avoided all controversial subjects, describing Castle
routs and drawing-rooms, much as an attache of the
present day would descant on Paris or St. Petersburg.
DINNER AT KINGSCASTLE. 4!
The Count and the Marchesa when they wanted
society went to Paris or Rome. The Earl and the
Countess were poor and domestic, and the Countess
liked to spend her holiday in England. So Dublin
gossip was new to them.
After the ladies had retired, according to the custom
which had prevailed for several years at these annual
festivals, Malet brewed a large bowl of punch. Our
modern ideas of total abstinence were unknown
then ; yet the drunkenness of the good old times, or
the bad old times, as some people may regard them, is
probably greatly exaggerated. If more alcohol was
taken eighty years ago after dinner, certainly there
was less consumed in the way of " half-ones " and
dram-drinking.
To return to our party. The Count rarely tasted
anything stronger than light wines, and also gene-
rously supplied Father O'Toole with them, who, after
his foreign residence, did not care about whiskey.
However, once in a way, at these yearly sporting
feasts, the Count and Father O'Toole joined with
the others out of good fellowship ; and none of the
party could be called a toper. Malet, on an odd
day, might appear a little livelier than usual ; his
unerring shot was, at the same time, a guarantee that
he was no drunkard ; and the Earl and his brother
were sober men.
Malet then chalked out their programme for the
week's grouse-shooting, knowing where the birds
were most numerous that season, and allowing for
the heather and cover being denser and the springs
better in some places than others.
42 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
The state of the country was then discussed, and
everyone present was for law and order being main-
tained, though Father O'Toole had no sympathy
with tithes, and poked a little fun at the Earl and
the Canon about the size of the " Minister," as the
tenth sheaf of corn was called, which was invariably
made much smaller than the others, for the Proctor's
visit.
The Canon watched his opportunity, and started
the subject of the unity of Christendom.
" Father O'Toole," he said, " does not your friend
in Carlow propose one great national Church for us
all ? I am heartily with him in that, if we could
effect a compromise."
"Well, Canon," was the guarded reply, "surely
you must know his views from his writings."
" Yes, yes," said the Canon impatiently ; " still
from his great position and influence he must be
cautious ; in private life a man's real opinions come
out."
Now Father O'Toole was naturally and by train-
ing polite and urbane. The Canon exposed himself
obviously to the retort that what the Bishop told his
old college chum was not intended for the outside
world. He did not avail himself of his advantage,
and replied deliberately : " A more liberal-minded,
true-hearted Irishman never lived than the Bishop."
He then added, with a sly, humorous look, and
changing his voice to a more familiar key : " I am
sure, Canon, he would be glad, as St. Paul said to
King Agrippa, if you, in a little and in much, should
become such as he is, except, of course, his penal
DINNER AT KINGSCASTLE. 43
bands. Your English divines are coming round a
good deal, I believe. What do they say about
unity?"
The Canon was a man of the world and a gentle-
man, and took the retort well, replying, " These men
are only Englishmen, and we are Irishmen ; does not
J. K. L. want a Patriarch?"
" He does," said the Count interrupting, " pro-
vided the Roman Catholic Primate is elected."
" I give him credit for more liberality than that,"
said the Canon.
" Where would the representatives of the Presby-
terians and Dissenters come in ? " cried the Earl, who
had no sympathy with his brother's leaning towards
Roman Catholicism, and, much as he disliked
Presbyterianism, feared and hated advanced Church
opinions still more.
The Canon, unheeding the interruptions, turned to
Father O'Toole, and, with a little spice of blarney,
said : " And what is your opinion ? you are always
truly catholic and tolerant. Now, my view is for
union of all Episcopalians, under an independent
Archbishop, or Patriarch, if you like to call him so ;
but I would as soon include Jews as black-mouthed
Presbyterians or groaning Methodists."
Father O'Toole, after a moment's silence, raised
his steaming tumbler, and said slowly : " You think
as I think, and I think as you think ; so be thankful
for that, and now drink your punch, friend Canon."
" And meet me, the whole lock, stock, and barrel
of ye, at the top of the Castle at half-past five o'clock
to-morrow morning," said Malet, suddenly bursting
44 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
into the midst of the argument, and abruptly ending
the theological discussion for that night anyhow.
There was a general chorus of laughter at Malet's
sally.
Now to Malet it appeared you might just as well
try to reconcile an Irish terrier and a Norwegian rat
as a good Protestant, which he translated " Orange-
man," and a real Papist, which he freely rendered
"dastardly Jesuit." He thought, then, there had
been enough of this balderdash about " unity " ;
and that the time had surely come for settling the
real, practical, pressing question where they were to
shoot on the morrow.
The Canon saw the subject had gone far enough,
and, taking the rebuff in good part, turned to Malet,
laughing, and said : " Right you are, Amby ; business
is business. Let us fix now the place and hour. As
usual, old man, you will have the pull of me for the
first day or two ; then, when I have settled down a
bit, I may have a look in."
" You are a rare plucked one, Canon," replied
Malet, in intense good-humour with himself and the
rest of the company ; " I will have you, my friend,
just skin and bone before the week is out."
The party broke up shortly after, so as to allow an
early start for the slaughter of the birds.
It may be here remarked, for the benefit of those
unacquainted with the topography of the district, that
" the top of the Castle " — that is, the highest point
of the Castle Mountain — was a favourite rendezvous
for sportsmen starting in quest of grouse.
The whole party turned up punctually at the
DINNER AT KINGSCASTLE. 45
trysting-place the next morning. The reader must
not expect any account of the day's proceedings.
They were pleasantly monotonous, and there was no
untoward accident; only grouse were hit. No human
being or dog was peppered. A temperance advocate
might expect to hear that there were heavy heads
and bad misses after Malet's punch. Well, as truthful
historians we must disappoint that well-meaning
person. All the party were quite fit, and the hitting
was good. We may add, however, that there were
no whole or half glasses of whiskey on the mountains.
Everyone was satisfied with the previous night's
allowance, and expected another pleasant reunion
after the conclusion of the day's sport That reunion
took place, and more punch was imbibed at it ;
but nothing particularly exciting occurred worthy of
being related.
CHAPTER VII.
WHO BURNT THE CASTLE HILL?
BEFORE the eve of the grouse-shooting in the year
following the merry meeting recorded in the last
chapter, Lady Violet died, leaving a daughter only a
few days old. An aunt of Lady Violet was staying
with the young couple at the time, and left for Eng-
land immediately after the funeral, bringing the baby
with her, who only survived her mother a few months.
Malet was prostrated with grief. Even the Countess
of Clara, who never liked the poor man, had always
freely admitted that he was a most affectionate and
considerate husband.
The Countess was over in England stopping with
her brother, Lord Dartmoor, at the time of Lady
Violet's death, which had occurred very suddenly.
In the same month as Lady Violet died the
Marchesa's only daughter was born. Previous to
this event the Dijons had had only one child — a son,
a contemporary of young Lord Kingscastle, and
called popularly Count Adolphe.
The Countess of Clara on her return home was in
no humour to hold the annual dinner to inaugurate
the grouse-shooting ; and poor Malet was broken-
hearted. So no dinner took place, and, as frequently
happens when a break comes in such institutions,
WHO BURNT THE CASTLE HILL? 47
there never was another such dinner given, although
for a few years the shooting went on.
The Canon was the first to give up the sport,
which he did on being made, to everyone's surprise,
a Bishop. He was very High Church, the very
antithesis of Archbishop Whately (then Protestant
Archbishop of Dublin), who, when asked whether
he believed in Apostolic Succession, replied con-
temptuously, " Apostolic fiddlesticks !"
The new Bishop's time was devoted to his See of
Ballinasloe, situated in the West of Ireland. He
possibly, with the ideas then commencing, thought
grouse-shooting inconsistent with his calling —
especially with the dignity of a Bishop ; he was also
getting very stout, and even walking in competition
with Malet had not the same effect of bringing him
into condition as formerly. He was an old bachelor,
and took a great interest in his twin nephews.
The Earl gave up next, and he and the Countess
began to live a great deal in England with the
Countess's brother, Lord Dartmoor, who never
married.
Count Dijon then dropped off, leaving the shooting
to his son, Adolphe, Lord Kingscastle, and Malet.
The two young men were at first very submissive to
Malet, who, though he did not fancy them, took great
trouble, for both their fathers' sakes, in making them
sportsmen.
Count Adolphe got a post in the Pope's establish-
ment, and spent most of his winters in Rome ; and
Lord Kingscastle was gazetted to the Life Guards.
Both, however, made a point of being at home for the
48 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
grouse-shooting. The young heir began to bring
congenial brother officers, and the Count Adolphe a
couple of Italian friends. Malet resented this inno-
vation. He never liked Kingscastle, who sympathized
with his mother in thinking poor Lady Violet had
degraded herself by her marriage, and who, beneath
a thin varnish of Eton and army polish, retained an
aggressive, snobbish manner. As to Count Adolphe,
Malet could scarcely put up with him ; and he looked
down on Malet as an impudent peasant. All these
pent-up feelings were certain sooner or later to break
forth. A quarrel arose on the occasion of one of
Lord Kingscastle's friends happening to pepper a
favourite spaniel of Malet's in firing at an old cock
grouse. Malet swore at the delinquent in very broad
and wholly unambiguous language. Kingscastle took
the part of his friend, and told Malet he forgot his
position. Malet promptly called him an impudent
young snob. Count Adolphe told Malet he must
never go again on the Count's mountain. Malet
retorted he would let none of them set a foot on
his mountain, as the Earl alone had a right to shoot
on it.
The incident broke up the party for the day, and
for the season, as the quarrel happened to occur at
the end of it.
In Ireland, whenever there is a dispute about
sporting rights, everyone looks into the law ; and, as
a rule, no one believes in the law, unless it happens
to be in one's own favour. It was quite clear that
Count Dijon could warn Malet off the Count's
mountain ; but could Malet prevent the Earl's son
WHO BURNT THE CASTLE HILL? 49
and his friends shooting on his mountain? Lord
Kingscastle applied to the Earl's local attorney, who
said it was a very nice point, and he must have
counsel's opinion on it.
"You must get a good one," said the young Lord.
" Certainly," said the old solicitor, rather testily.
" I would like Tim Driscoll, only he is unwell, and
not writing on cases just now. There is a very long-
headed young fellow coming on, himself a bit of a
sportsman, named Beaumont ; he will take an interest
in it. I will try him. He managed an ejectment
very well for me at the last Wicklow assizes."
A case then went to Mr. Beaumont, who wrote a
very long, shrewd opinion upon it, full of law and
worldly wisdom ; but to the effect that the words of
reservation, or regrant, as he termed them, of sporting
rights in Malet's leases were peculiar and excep-
tional ; and he advised a friendly understanding
between the parties.
Lord Kingscastle disapproved of Beaumont's
opinion, and showed his want of perception in stating
that the promising Junior would never come to
anything.
The middleman spent no money on lawyers, and
swore he would let no one but the old Earl put a
foot on his land.
Lord Kingscastle purposely went on the disputed
mountain. He was warned to go back ; a struggle
took place, and Malet's gun went off, wounding, the
young heir-at-law slightly in the arm.
Malet saw the wounded man to the Castle, who,
however, was not to be appeased. Feeling ran high in
E
50 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
the neighbourhood. Lord Kingscastle was positive
that Malet deliberately shot him ; and Malet indig-
nantly denied it. Proceedings were commenced
against Malet, who certainly injured his case by
leaving the country ; and Lord Kingscastle, whose
wound was very trifling, seemed to have the better
of it. The quarrel arose before the 2Oth of August
had arrived ; and the parties, though they certainly
carried fowling-pieces, were both too good sports-
men to have been out for grouse-shooting. Lord
Kingscastle appeared to have been left in undisturbed
possession, when an event occurred which upset the
most far-seeing calculations. The furze and heather
on all Lord Kingscastle's and the Count's mountains
went on fire ; the weather being unusually dry, the
blaze spread rapidly, and all the mountains were left
bare of cover and game.
That the fire was accidental no one ventured to
assert. It commenced simultaneously at several
places at a considerable distance from each other.
It was plainly the result of deliberate design, but it
was not known who was the perpetrator of the foul
deed. Of course, Lord Kingscastle's side said it was
Malet. Malet had left the country ; and his sisters,
who had returned to live with him, and a few servants
were all who were left to represent him. These
protested their innocence. Those who knew Malet
repudiated warmly the idea that he would be capable
of so unsportsmanlike an act.
The quarrel had one very disastrous effect. It
created a serious rupture between the leading gentry
and the middleman class. These two parties had
51
always joined in preserving what was called the
peace of the country, and in keeping down the tillers
of the soil, the occupying peasantry. It was whis-
pered about that the Rathdrum Orange Lodge had
been summoned hurriedly just before the incen-
diarism had occurred, and that the nefarious act was
hatched then and there. The Orange Lodge was
undoubtedly composed principally of the Protestant
middleman and large farmer class, and the higher
gentry only attended on state occasions.
The Lodge issued a manifesto denying such a
slander, and asserting that malicious burnings, firing
behind hedges, and skulking outrages were not to
their taste, and warning people not to repeat such
slanders.
Shortly after, in a crowded market in Rathdrum,
Count Adolphe met the Master of the Orange Lodge,
and sneeringly accused him of the burning. The
Orange Master replied by knocking the young man
down, who got up bleeding from the mouth, with
fewer teeth ; and he left the town a sadder and, it is
to be hoped, a wiser man.
After this little incident, no one ever again brought
the nasty accusation against the Orangemen, either
collectively or individually.
One matter was perfectly clear — if the burning
was bad for the game, it was good for the grazing ;
and from time to time friction had often arisen on
the question of letting the heather get too strong.
A Methodist rented Count Dijon's mountain — a
meek, decent, hard-working fellow, who was not
likely to adopt the Orange Master's method of
$2 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
putting down his accusers ; and it was hinted that
he might have been concerned in it. To the Count's
credit, he laughed at this solution.
Malet's sub-tenants, who were all Roman Catholics,
and generally against Malet, both for preserving his
game and preventing them from burning the heather
and the old grass, on this occasion did not conceal
their delight ; and it was just possible they might
have had a hand in it.
A party of travelling tinkers had been seen in the
neighbourhood, and had lit fires ; but it would have
required half a dozen gangs of tinkers to light all
the fires necessary for such a widespread conflagra-
tion. The mystery has never yet been explained,
and must remain insoluble to the end of all time.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE EVOLUTION OF THE IRISH PEOPLE.
FATHER OTOOLE was a silent, though deeply
concerned, spectator of the unfortunate ending to
the pleasant reunions for the shooting-season in his
parish. He felt greatly the animosities which arose
between classes which had previously worked in
harmony for the general good. He was not himself
a sportsman, so far as taking an active part in
shooting. He was, however, as we have seen, a
welcome guest at the social gatherings of those who
were real sportsmen ; and he determined, if possible,
to bring about an amnesty, even if there could be no
actual reconciliation. After waiting judiciously to
let passions cool down, he used his influence with
Count Dijon to stop all legal proceedings, and to let
Malet return without being molested ; and he met
with success.
The Count was a polished gentleman. He had,
in his early youth, seen service in the Spanish army,
and, rumour said, fought several duels ; still, he
detested vulgar rows, and he was liberal-minded
enough to see that all the right was not on his son's
side. He liked Malet, who amused him, was defer-
ential to him, and never rubbed him up the wrong
way. The two men were so unlike in character and
position that they never clashed ; and if ever there
54 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
was a doubtful bird between the two, Malet always
credited it to the Count, though, being the better shot,
the probability was that Malet had hit it rather than
the Count. The Count wrote to the Earl, who
came over, furious with his son, and sympathized
with Malet even more than did the Count ; and
the result was that Malet reappeared as suddenly
as he had left, and all parties agreed to let
bygones be bygones. There could be no dispute
about the shooting in the immediate future, for
the simple reason that it had been destroyed for
several years to come, owing to the burning and
the destruction of the young birds.
Lord Kingscastle resumed his military duties in
London ; and Count Adolphe returned to Rome to
the Papal Court.
Shortly afterwards the Earl suffered a sad bereave-
ment, which banished all petty worries from his mind.
The Countess died ; she had been in failing health
for some time ; and one reason why she and the
Earl had been residing so much in England was
that it was hoped she might be benefited by her
native air.
The Earl sent the twins to a school in England
preparatory to Eton ; he gave Mrs. Simpson, who
had lived at Kingscastle as a housekeeper, a sub-
stantial present, and she went to Australia, where
some of her children had settled.
An event then occurred which caused great
consternation in the district. The Earl shut up
Kingscastle as a residence, merely leaving a care-
taker to look after him and his sons when they
THE EVOLUTION OF THE IRISH PEOPLE. 55
paid it a flying visit. There was a rumour in the
country that he was hard up. He had got no fortune
with his wife, and had been an indulgent landlord,
both to his occupying tenants and to the middlemen.
They all, including Malet, had got numerous abate-
ments. He also kept an open house, and everyone
of every grade who called there got "a bit and
a sup," as the saying is.
After a couple of years the Earl married again,
and on this occasion wedded a rich English heiress
who had a country mansion in a midland county.
He also became one of the twenty-eight Irish
Representative Peers in the Imperial Parliament.
His second marriage, for all practical purposes,
severed all social intercourse between him and his
Irish friends, tenants, and retainers ; and he became
virtually an English country gentleman, with a town
house in London.
The disastrous effect of closing a place like Kings-
castle can only be fully realized by one who has lived
in the country parts of Ireland. Such houses are
little centres of civilization and of great use in many
ways. The English take the Irish too seriously, and
imagine that because the landlord and tenant classes
for the most part differ on the subjects of religion,
rent, and politics, they must all, without exception,
individually and personally hate each other. Nothing
is further from the truth. No doubt, where, as in
parts of Ulster, they agree in religion and politics,
the ties are closer. Still the mutual kindnesses and
signs of goodwill in other parts of Ireland between
the different classes are happily far from uncommon;
56 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
With many things to retard it, slowly and almost
imperceptibly, but none the less surely, an Irish race
is being formed with characteristics of its owtt.
Why it is that some races, joined under the same
government, coalesce and become one race, and at
other times, with apparently similar causes at work,
each race retains its own individuality, is hard to
explain; but so it is. England became one, though
there were different races in different parts of it.
Highlander and Lowlander in Scotland united, and
became one Scotch people distinct from the English.
Wales has never been merged in England. Ireland
will probably evolve a type of her own. The Angles,
Saxons, Normans, Celts, and various other races
combined to make the great English nation superior
to any of its component parts.
, The Celts were probably the earliest inhabitants of
Ireland. The Celtic race was a branch of the great
Aryan or Persian stock. There are also some
grounds for believing that there is a Phoenician,
a Hebrew, or some other Semitic strain in the Irish
people. From the reign of Henry the Second, the
English and Welsh invaders and settlers poured into
Ireland, and brought their own various nationalities
with them ; and to these were added from time to
time contingents of Scotch, Huguenots, Germans
from the Palatinate, Spaniards, Italians, and other
races. The close connexion between Ireland and
Spain, both with respect to Spanish immigrants and
illegaLcommerce (in plain language smuggling), con-
tinued .into the nineteenth century, and was strongly
exemplified in the fact that the British Government
THE EVOLUTION OF THE IRISH PEOPLE. 57
gave the -contract for supplying Sir John Moore's
army with Spanish dollars to Irishmen, who collected
the money by beating drums at the fairs and markets
through the South and West of Ireland, and offered
inducements to the people to exchange their Spanish
money for English ; and in this manner the contract
was successfully carried out and the needful supply
of Spanish money obtained.
The Italian settlers were not so numerous as the
Spaniards ; still many well-known houses in Ireland
trace their descent to that origin : notably, the
Geraldines, or Giraldini — from whom the noble house
of Leinster sprang, whose influence for many genera-
tions has been felt throughout Ireland — were of
Italian origin. It is to be hoped that the Irish type
will prove equal to the best of the leading races of
the world.
To return to our story. One great result of the
termination of the sporting quarrel was a close
friendship between Father O'Toole and Malet,
though they had felt always, like most Irishmen who
are close neighbours, a " gra " for each other.
He had never been stiff with Father O'Toole when
he said a word for one of his struggling sub-tenants ;
and he never left him without a bird, or a hare, or a
rabbit in the season, and, now that Father O'Toole
gave Malet a " lift," and arranged an amnesty, they
became fast friends.
Father O'Toole was engaged in a very absorbing
and interesting task — the opening of his new church.
Of course the Roman Catholic Archbishop was
present, supported by many other Roman Catholic
58 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
dignitaries ; but the unusual feature on the occasion
was the presence of many Protestants, most of whom
had been contributors — a striking tribute to the
respect which was felt for the warm-hearted Parish
Priest. Malet was there; and it was remarked that
there was no Orange counter-demonstration, as too
often was the case in opposition to any Roman
Catholic religious gathering.
The death of his old friend, the gifted Bishop
Doyle, was a great blow to Father O'Toole ; and
the opening of his new church reminded him of the
many conferences he had had with his dear friend
about it.
The good priest was now a more frequent visitor
than ever before at the Chateau Dijon. The Count
in his early days had not escaped the flood of
Voltairism which had swept the continent of Europe ;
still he remained a member of his Church ; and,
probably owing to the influence of Father O'Toole,
was constant in his attendance to his religious
duties. He loved his Parish Priest like a brother.
Each suited the other; and this companionship
reconciled the Count to a residence in Ireland, which
would otherwise have been dull and irksome to him.
The question why he did not reside more of his
time abroad was frequently discussed by the village
gossips, and never solved. Probably Father O'Toole
knew the reason ; if he did, he never revealed it.
If the Earl's action in closing Kingscastle was a
loss to the neighbourhood, the closing of Chateau
Dijon would have been a positive calamity. The
Count and the Marchesa spent money freely ; and
THE EVOLUTION OF THE IRISH PEOPLE. 59
the Count, having only a few tenants, was not
exposed to the same measure of unpopularity in
collecting rent as the Earl often was.
Father O'Toole made a pet of Angelica, the
Count's daughter. She was a singularly beautiful
child, like her mother, and yet so unlike. She had
an open, true expression, with a winning smile and a
merry laugh.
Father O'Toole and the Marchesa barely tolerated
each other. The haughty, repellent Marchesa acted
as if she believed all the rest of the world had been
created for the purpose of serving the haute noblesse^
to which she belonged ; and the only person she
seemed really to love was her absent son Adolphe.
She adored him, and had opposed the good Priest
when he used his influence to get the shooting
episode passed over. She suffered the twins to come
to Chateau Dijon, to play with the little Angelica;
but she left them and Angelica mostly to the
governess and nursery maids. As time went by,
Angelica was sent to a convent school at Paris
for her education ; and whilst there she heard of the
death of her brother Adolphe, of malarial fever, at
Rome. The loving girl at once wrote to her mother,
offering to return home and be with her ; but
she got a cold refusal. The Marchesa bore her
grief in silence : no one dared to offer her con-
solation ; and it was remarked that it was Father
O'Toole's Curate, and not himself, with whom she
conferred about her deceased son and the rites of her
Church. The Count felt his son's loss ; but his
daughter was his prime favourite,
60 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
The Earl rarely went to Ireland. The twins,
whenever they visited their old home, stayed at the
Chateau Dijon. Thornton, the agent, was dead ;
and the new agent was not only active in collecting
the rents, but in getting in the arrears, which were
paid with murmuring. Not even the wisest observers
foresaw the dreadful calamity which was looming in
the near future.
CHAPTER IX.
DID ENGLAND AGGRAVATE THE FAMINE?
THE terrible famine of 1845 to ^47 has been
frequently described with all its harrowing details ;
and still no description of it, however realistic and
vivid, can equal the recollections of one who witnessed
it even as a ydung child.
In the middle of the eighteenth century a large
area of Ireland was under grass, and supplied cattle
and sheep to England in exchange for corn. After
prices had risen during the American and Napoleonic
wars, the inferior land of the country was cut up into
small holdings, and every available acre of the then
virgin soil was ploughed up. Traces are still plainly
visible amongst the heather, high up on the Wicklow
Mountains, where land was tilled by parties who took
the chance of a favourable season allowing the crops
to grow and ripen. The estimated population of
Ireland in the middle of the eighteenth century was
only about two millions ; in 1815, six millions ; and
in 1845 it was over eight millions. This enormous
increase, unlike the case of England, was in the rural
population and not in the towns.
England during the last half century has been told
a great many unpalatable truths about Ireland, not
only as to her treatment of the Roman Catholics in
62 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
depriving them of their land, and in trying to deprive
them of their religion, but also of her breaches of
faith with the Protestants in destroying their manu-
factures and commerce after she had encouraged them
to settle in Ireland and form the English garrison
there. The answer mockingly given to this is, it all
occurred long ago — in the far past — in the seventeenth
century and the early years of the eighteenth ; but the
wrong was repeated again in the nineteenth century,
when England became alarmed at the cheap labour
in Ireland underselling English manufactures ; and a
great deal of the cruel poverty of the nineteenth
century, culminating in the awful famine, would have
been averted if the United Parliament, after the
destruction of the Irish Parliament, had not put a
prohibitive tariff on Irish goods entering England.
It is true, once steam-power became developed,
England's coal-mines and minerals naturally, without
protection, were able to compete with Ireland, which
is deficient in both ; but England is even now not
satisfied to leave things to work themselves out
fairly, and still fears her sister isle as a dangerous
competitor. Ireland, on her eastern seaboard, is in
close proximity to the best British coal-fields ; she
also has some coal of her own, and for electric and
other purposes possesses unlimited water-power.
This large, redundant Irish population was of
invaluable assistance to England in her sorest need.
The Irish peasantry are a warlike race, and they
supplied brave, hardy, good-humoured soldiers to
Sir John Moore at Corunna, and to Wellington
throughout the Peninsular War, and at Waterloo
DID ENGLAND AGGRAVATE THE FAMINE? 63
and when a long period of rest from war came in 1815,
if England had then encouraged peaceful, industrious
pursuits at home for the brave fellows who fought
for her abroad, kindlier relations might have been
established between the two islands ; the clamour for
Home Rule would probably have died out, as it did
in Scotland ; and, above all, the famine, when it did
come, would certainly have been less severely felt
by a people who had other resources besides those
derived from the tillage of small patches of bad land,
the only means of subsistence of the greater part of
the peasantry in Ireland, particularly of those on the
western seaboard. England was short-sighted in her
narrow selfishness ; for the starving, discontented
Irish emigrants fostered a bitter feeling of resentment
between England and the United States of America.
This has often since led to unfortunate political
complications between these two countries, which
are naturally and, notwithstanding this source of
danger, still happily — no doubt, in consequence of
their common origin— bound to each other by the
closest ties of friendship and goodwill.
The potato disease caused, as is of course well
known, the repeal of the Corn Laws. That plant
essentially contributed to the food of Great Britain
and Ireland, and constituted almost the entire sup-
port of the peasantry of the West of Ireland. Com-
plaints were freely made that, at this time, the hard
step-mother, England, thought too much of herself
and too little of Ireland ; and whilst the free importa-
tion of food was a relief to manufacturing England,
with plenty of money to pay for foreign produce,
64 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
it only aggravated the distress in poverty-stricken
Ireland. Undoubtedly for some years after the famine
the fall in the price of corn impoverished the Irish
farmer who grew it, and consequently the landlord ;
but the increased trade of England, and the limited
area from which formerly foodstuffs could be obtained,
in time told on agricultural prices in Ireland, which
was fairly prosperous for twenty years before 1878.
The removal of the restrictions on the introduction
of foreign cattle into the United Kingdom would in
the present day be also severely felt in Ireland.
Whether a subsequent rebound in prosperity similar
to that which followed the Repeal of the Corn Laws
is likely to take place, is not so certain. It is a
melancholy but an absolutely true complaint the
Irish of all creeds and politics make, that the inter-
national treaty agreed upon between Great Britain
and Ireland at the time of the Union, regulating
permanently the proportion of taxes between the
two islands, has been broken ; and a commission of
experts, the majority of whom were English, has
recently reported that • Ireland at the present time
is over-taxed two millions and a half pounds yearly.
This is a substantial, not a sentimental, grievance.
Such conduct is a shabby breach of good faith on
the part of rich, powerful England with poor, weak
Ireland.
To return to our story. " The famine was sore in
the land," and the poor, small mountainous farmers
of Kingscastle suffered grievously. Father O'Toole
nearly beggared himself in trying to relieve the
distress. The Bishop of Ballinasloe sent him money
DID ENGLAND AGGRAVATE THE FAMINE? 65
for the relief of the parish of which he had been
Vicar.
Malet was at the head of the Relief Committee,
and tried to bear up stoutly. He was, however, him-
self overwhelmed with misfortunes. His own potatoes
utterly failed, his cereals were a short crop, and he
got no rent from his sub-tenants. Malet, with all
his off-hand ways and rollicking, sporting proclivities,
was a proud man, and tried to conceal his difficulties.
He borrowed from the banks, and, what was worse,
he also borrowed secretly from money-lenders.
The middleman has been the scapegoat for all the
misfortunes of Ireland. He was a buffer between the
head man and the occupier. When times were fairly
prosperous, the head landlord complained bitterly
of the folly and improvidence of his ancestor who let
the lands on perpetuity leases at what he would call
nominal rents. On the other hand, when times were
bad, the head landlord would say that his rent at all
events was low enough. The middleman was pro-
claimed the blood-sucker, and the occupier recognized
only his immediate taskmaster, the middleman, and
until that go-between was squeezed out, did not
concern himself with the head landlord.
All classes, including notably the clergy of every
denomination, it will now be admitted, did their best;
and if the English Government was hard and
unsympathetic, the English people in their private
capacity responded nobly to the call for help.
Malet, with ruin staring him in the face, did his
utmost to assist his starving sub-tenants and
labourers. At length, towards the close of 1846, he
F
66 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
got the following letter from Messrs. Wiseacre &
Son, a then well-known firm of Dublin solicitors : —
"MR. AMBROSE MALET.
"DEAR SIR,
" We must again reluctantly call your attention to
the frequent applications we have made to you for
the payment of your head rents to the Earl of Clara
and your promises to meet your obligations. We
are bound to say you have been treated with the
greatest indulgence. Your head rents are very low,
and no complaint can be made with respect to them.
The Earl of Clara's agent now blames us for our
clemency to you in not instituting legal proceedings,
as heavy payments in the nature of quit-rents, taxes,
and interest on charges have to be met. It is our
painful duty to warn you that, unless within a fort-
night the sum of £249 6s. 3d., being arrears of rent
up to the ist November last, with £$ 35. 4d. costs, is
paid to us, we must institute proceedings not only
against you but also against your sub-tenants for the
recovery of your holdings. We think it our duty to
point out to you that for such apparently harsh
measures against the unfortunate occupiers under
you, who are now suffering from famine, you, and
not the Earl of Clara, would be solely responsible.
We have also to call your attention to the fact that
the renewal fines, which became due on the deaths
of the lives in your leases, have never been paid.
These fines, as you must be aware, are, when not
paid at the proper time, cumulative septennially,
DID ENGLAND AGGRAVATE THE FAMINE? 67
and now amount with interest to an aggregate sum
of ,£782 ps. ii^d. It is our unpleasant duty to
inform you that if this further sum is not paid to us
within six weeks from the present time, proceedings
will be taken to avoid your leases, if your estate
under them has not been already lost by ejectment
proceedings for the recovery of your head rents.
" Your obedient servants,
" WISEACRE & SON."
Malet, it may be imagined, was astounded at this
blow. In raising money from the bank and from
money-lenders he had completely ignored and for-
gotten the omission to renew his leases. The bank
manager was his cousin. The combined arrears
of rent and accumulations of fines and interest
amounted to more than the value of his leaseholds,
burdened, as they were, with a starving peasantry
and enormous poor rates. He had long since
exhausted his sisters' money ; he was, in fact, a
desperate man. The Earl, no doubt, with his rich
second wife, was rolling in wealth. Malet's grand-
father, father, and uncles had acted as a bodyguard
to the Earl's grandfather in the disturbed times,
some years before the rebellion of '98. Malet still
preserved the gun which, in a lonely pass between
Wicklow and Wexford, his uncle had taken from a
Whiteboy leader, and thereby saved the Earl of the
period, felling the assailant with the stock of the
man's own musket. Now, in his direst want, he was
handed over to a Dublin firm, well known for its
68 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
correctness of calculations, courtesy of language, and
merciless cruelty in carrying out the letter of the law.
Burning under a sense of his wrongs, he sat down
at once, and wrote to the Earl a long, somewhat
rambling letter, containing the following paragraph,
which embodied in itself the pith of the whole
epistle : —
" My forefather, as a sergeant, fought under yours
in Cromwell's army. We, for generations, saved you
and yours from the bloody Papists. You gave us
no lease until my grandfather and his seven sons
guarded your grandfather's house in the bad times ;
and then you gave us leases which crushed and
forced us to bind down the poor creatures who live
under us. Now that we are dying of want, you send
me an attorney's letter for a sum of money which you
know well it is as impossible for me to pay as the
National Debt."
In a week Malet received the following : —
" The Earl of Clara is too ill to attend to business ;
in any case your insolent letter deserves no reply.
I merely write to warn you that the action of the
Earl's solicitors cannot be interfered with."
This letter was signed " Griselda Clara," and was
written by the Earl's second wife. Poor Malet
would have got a very different reply from the
Earl's first Countess, albeit she never liked him,
or could appreciate the real good which was in the
man.
DID ENGLAND AGGRAVATE THE FAMINE? 69
A week later he got from "The Palace, Ballina-
sloe," the following very different letter : —
My DEAR AMBY,
' I am truly sorry to hear you are hard pressed
by the Earl's business men. He is very ill, and as
poor as yourself. My sister-in-law does not know
Ireland, and is too deaf to hear anything about it.
She asked me a month ago, when I was over, ' Is it
true the potato crop is bad in Ireland, and rents
rather difficult to collect ? ' Do not blame her if
she seems hard. I cannot forget my old shooting
pal, and the friend who saved me from the street -
boys in College Green, too many years ago now.
There are many ties between us, reaching back to
Cromwell and the Boyne Water. Accept the
enclosed ; I wish it were more.
" Ever yours,
" FITZROY BALLINASLOE."
The letter enclosed a bank draft for £200.
The strong man, on getting this touching reminder
of an old friendship, fairly broke down and sobbed
passionately.
The Bishop, in his loyalty to his family, told a
very small part of a melancholy story. The Earl's
father had disapproved of his son's match with the
portionless daughter of Lord Dartmoor, and had
made no settlement on his marriage ; but by his
will he tied up the Kingscastle estates, so as to
secure them, as far as possible, for the holder of
the title of Earl of Clara, for the time being. The
70 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
property was also charged with portions under his
will for the old Earl's daughters, his younger son,
Fitzroy, and another younger son. On his death,
the Earl succeeded to an encumbered property.
His second marriage was an attempt to get him-
self out of money difficulties. The new Countess
was a worldly woman ; she had her property
strictly settled on herself, and resented Lt>rd
Kingscastle being put into the Life Guards ; and
the unfortunate Earl was plunged deeper into debt
and ruin, trying to maintain him, and supply his own
personal wants. The Bishop practically undertook
the whole expenses of the twins. The Earl merely
existed as a wretched pensioner on his second wife.
The generous gift of the Bishop was a mere drop
in the ocean of debt. A receiver was appointed over
the Kingscastle estates, with the Earl's solicitors
acting for him. There is no use in going into
melancholy details. Malet lost the home of his
ancestors and all their buildings and improvements ;
the bank lost their loan ; the indulgent manager was
dismissed ; Malet's sisters were supported by relatives
in Dublin ; he emigrated to Australia, and became
a shepherd on a run in New South Wales.
Malet's sub-tenants were left in occupation at
greatly reduced rents. Their arrears were treated as
irrecoverable. His house was put in charge of a
bailiff as caretaker ; and his home-farm set under
temporary lettings at very low prices.
CHAPTER X.
ANGELICA'S SUITORS,
ANGELICA returned home to the Chateau Dijon
from her Convent School at Paris when she was
eighteen. She more than realized the promise of her
childhood in appearance and disposition. Being of
the Spanish type, she was still like her mother, but
less so than in childhood ; as she had grown older,
the striking difference in expression had become
more marked. She was rather tall for a southern,
being about the medium height of an English girl,
with hair as black as the raven's wing. Her mother
was an Andalusian ; and, resembling her, Angelica
was exquisitely made, arid had the gliding walk and
graceful movements in which the Spanish girl excels
those of all other nations. Her mother never loved
her as she did her brother Adolphe. Adolphe was
proud, ambitious, narrow-minded, and tyrannical like
his mother ; and their views on all matters agreed.
The Marchesa was attached to her Church, and was
intolerant of all other religions. She was not, how-
ever, devout, like her daughter, who returned from
school with the idea of entering an Ursuline Convent.
She broached the subject to her mother, who strongly
opposed the idea. She asked Father O'Toole his
opinion, who answered gravely :
" Far be it from me, Angelica, to divert your
thoughts from religion and a holy life ; but since the
72 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
death of your brother, your first duties appear to me
to be towards your parents."
The Marchesa had had lofty views for her son : of
advancing him in the political world, in Rome and
Madrid, which, of course, all vanished with his death.
She was proud* of her daughter's beauty and high-
born bearing, though she could not comprehend her
benevolent, unselfish, and unworldly thoughts. On
Angelica's return home, her mother tried to introduce
her into society. The Marchesa proposed to the
Count to leave Ireland and reside in Paris, Madrid,
or Seville. He, however, convinced her that, for poli-
tical reasons, his doing so was out of the question.
The ambitious mother saw that it would be very
difficult to procure in Ireland a marriage alliance
at all commensurate with the exalted ideas she had
for her daughter and heiress.
The twins were some three years older than
Angelica ; so very like, and at the same time so very
unlike, each other. They were handsome, fine-
looking, healthy young men. Stephen, the elder,
was his uncle's favourite, and designed for the
Church. He was intellectually clever ; had gained
many prizes in Trinity College, Dublin ; and had
obtained a Classical Scholarship. George, the
younger twin, was idle, wild, and daring, and had
just been gazetted to a Commission in the Rifle
Brigade.
They were invited to Chateau Dijon, in default
of better suitors turning up. Neither of them was
the ideal husband the Marchesa would have chosen
for her daughter. In the first place, they were of the
ANGELICA'S SUITORS. 73
wrong religion; and, above all, they were poor
younger sons. Still they were of the noblesse class,
and might divert Angelica from ridiculous fanatical
ideas.
Angelica was happily wholly ignorant of her
mother's designs, and treated the two young men as
old play-fellows, almost as brothers. Stephen quietly
accepted this footing. George, from the time they
were children, had protected her and been devoted to
her ; and now that she had returned home in all the
glory of her fascinating beauty, he adored her. He
became desperately jealous of his brother Stephen.
If, as children, George preferred Angelica as a play-
fellow to any other girl friend, Angelica, in various
ways, quite unconsciously to herself, showed a pre-
ference for Stephen. Now that they were grown up,
George frightened her ; rumours of his mad freaks
and occasional drinking-bouts reached her. In a
vague way, as a pure-minded, innocent girl, she
shrank from his openly shown admiration, and turned
to Stephen, as it were for protection. His tastes and
hers in many ways were alike. Both were sincerely
religious. He had become deeply imbued with
his uncle's high-church opinions. Both were fond of
reading. They discussed together literary subjects
which George could not understand. George had
never liked his twin-brother ; he preferred Lord
Kingscastle, with whom he had more tastes in
common. He now began actually to dislike Stephen,
who looked over people's heads, as Father O'Toole
remarked, and had no plots. He was reading for
two gold medals in Trinity ; and often, when stopping
74 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
at the Chateau Dijon, spent hours with Father
OToole, studying geology and botany (tastes they
had in common), and discussing theology.
Lord Kingscastle had some time previously
changed from the Life Guards into a Line regiment
quartered in India. His step-mother insisted on this
movement, refusing to advance any more money for
him. He was a dashing, rather wild young officer,
but with less vice than George. News now came
that he had been killed on the North-west frontier,
dying, like a gallant young Irishman, leading on his
men against the enemy.
Father OToole, from this time forward, observed
a certain change in the Marchesa. She, in a marked
manner, addressed Stephen as Lord Kingscastle,
facilitated, as only a woman knows how to do, the
easy friendship between him and Angelica, en-
couraged them to sing together, and kept his name
before her daughter.
Father OToole was fond of Stephen ; still, he would
have preferred a suitable match with a young man
of her own religion for Angelica. He had at this
time stopping with him an English Roman Catholic
nobleman, who joined Stephen (as we still call him)
in reading, and formed one of a party for the grouse-
shooting, which had been revived. This young man
was invited to Chateau Dijon, and treated cordially
by the Marchesa, who either thought him a better
match than Stephen, or wanted to use him as a
foil. He did not conceal his evident admiration
for Angelica, and talked to his host about her.
"And why, Bernard," said Father OToole, "if
ANGELICA'S SUITORS. 75
you admire her so much, do you not try to make her
your wife?"
"My wife!" exclaimed he in amazement; "I
would as soon think of marrying the Virgin Mary ;
she is too holy for this life."
Father OToole replied gravely : " Ought you not,
my son, to try and secure so good a woman for your
wife ? you, with her, might be of inestimable service
to the Catholic Church in Protestant England."
" She would not marry me, Father," said the young
man.
" ' Faint heart never won fair lady,' " replied the
priest, smiling.
He left, however, without proposing. Probably
the Marchesa, with intuitive perception, had never
regarded him seriously as a suitor, and she con-
tinued her efforts to bring her daughter and Stephen
together.
CHAPTER XI.
THE STARVING ACTRESS.
STEPHEN CORBET lived in his rooms in Trinity
College after he had obtained a Scholarship, and was
reading hard for his double Moderatorship. He
loved good acting, however, and was a constant
visitor at the old Theatre Royal in Hawkins Street.
When he returned to college, after his stay at the
Chateau Dijon, he attended almost every night
during the performance of a series of Shakespearean
plays. The company was very unequal. It con-
tained a few bright stars ; the bulk were unknown,
and, as a rule, miserably bad. Stephen was greatly
attracted by the beauty and acting of one young
girl, who the first couple of nights took a minor,
unimportant part, and then, owing to the illness of
a leading actress, played in the chief characters.
He was entranced with her Ophelia. The acting
he thought perfect, and her singing exquisite. She
had a fine, clear, well-trained voice. On the second
occasion on which Hamlet was played, there was a
crowded house, and Stephen witnessed Miss Gertrude
Cavendish's triumph. He was amongst the last to
leave the theatre ; and, hoping to get a nearer glimpse
of her, lingered about the doors.
THE STARVING ACTRESS. 77
The evening was wet and chilly, and by the time
Miss Cavendish appeared, closely muffled, there
were few people about. She was alone, and Stephen
saw her cast a frightened look at an old man who
came up and spoke to her, catching hold of her arm
roughly ; she shrank from him in evident disgust,
and said : " You know I have no money."
He leered at her with a drunken, insolent face,
saying, " My dear child, you must have some, since
you took the grand parts."
" Let me go," she said, struggling, and looking
imploringly at Stephen. " I gave you all the money
I had yesterday."
" You can borrow, no doubt," he answered with a
sneer, " from your young admirer here ; I will not
loose you until you give me a couple of shillings."
The girl said nothing to Stephen ; but seeing the
helpless look on her face, he caught the old man and
pushed him aside, with such roughness that he fell.
The girl moved rapidly away, and the old man got
up and followed ; when a coal-porter, whom Stephen
recognized as Jimmy Cullen, a Kingscastle man,
came up and said : " Masther Stephen, I will hold
him ; get away with the girl."
The young woman staggered, and would have
fallen, had not Stephen caught her and helped her
into a covered car which was passing. He then asked
where they should go ; she murmured the name of
an obscure street on the north side of the city. The
car had scarcely started when Stephen was alarmed
to see his companion turn deadly pale ; and before
they arrived at the house she had named she had
78 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
fainted. The driver knocked, and after what seemed
to Stephen an incredibly long time, the door was
opened by a dirty old woman. Stephen carried the
girl in, brought her upstairs, and laid her, still quite
unconscious, on a worn-looking old sofa.
" I never saw her like this before," said the
woman ; " the poor thing has not had enough to eat.
She will be all right now that she has got a
handsome young fellow to care for her." She said
this with a diabolical leer and wink at Stephen ;
and, seeing the frown on his face, continued : " I did
not think she was inclined that way ; you are her
first visitor ; I hope you have plenty of swag."
Stephen was about to make an angry reply, when
Miss Cavendish opened her eyes, and her first
exclamation was : " I hope father was not hurt ; I
saw him fall." Then seeing Stephen, she said, with
a total absence of all theatrical effect : " I have to
thank you, sir, for your kindness ; I remember you
got a car for me. I did not know you came with
me" ; and, then, with an effort at a smile, " please do
not let me trouble you further."
Stephen came forward, and asked would he send
for a doctor.
" Oh, no," said the poor girl, " I have no money to
pay him. Did you, sir, pay the carman ?"
Stephen muttered it was no matter.
" It is though," said she ; " if I have little, I owe
nothing."
Scarcely had she made this harmless boast when
she looked as if she were about to faint again.
The lodginghouse-keeper, who appeared to be a
THE STARVING ACTRESS. 79
good-natured old body, brought her some tea, which
she tried to swallow, and then dozed off.
Stephen gave the woman money to buy nourish-
ment for her, and left the house, saying he would
come again and inquire.
" She will act no more, I am thinking, for some
time," said the woman.
Stephen called the next day, and found Miss
Cavendish in a high fever. He at once sent a doctor,
who in his turn got a nurse.
Stephen went to the theatre, and reported that
Miss Cavendish was too ill to act. To his indignation
it was plain the official did not believe him, and
replied : " I thought she was a steady girl ; there is no
being up to them."
" What do you mean ? " said Stephen indignantly.
"Just what I say, young sir ; and as I ask you no
questions, I refuse to answer yours."
He called a higher official, who at once, in conster-
nation, jumped on an outside car and hurried to Miss
Cavendish's lodgings, neither of the men taking the
slightest further notice of Stephen.
Stephen went away sorely troubled. He was
finding how hard it is to do a good action in this
world without being misunderstood. Still, though
he was reading for a gold medal in Ethics (which,
we may say in anticipation, he subsequently got), he
did not complicate his thoughts with the reflection
whether he would have mixed himself up in the poor
desolate young actress's affairs if she had not been
young, beautiful, and winsome. He was a good
fellow, and a warm-hearted Irishman ; he could not
86 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
let the helpless girl, who had accidentally crossed his
path, perish from want and fever. A great deal of
the bloom, however, was taken off the peach, and
he got a fearful shock when he saw her squalid
surroundings — a coarse old woman, smelling of
whiskey, her landlady ; and oh ! worst shock of all,
an abominable drunken old sot, whom she called
"father"!
Jimmy Cullen, the coal-porter, who came to
Stephen's assistance, had been an under-gardener or
helper at Kingscastle, and an admirer and follower,
some years before, of Daniel O'Connell. The witty
"Liberator" called the Dublin coal-porters his
"black diamonds"; they acted as his bodyguard,
and Jimmy Cullen was a leading man amongst them.
He, however, also owed allegiance to the house of
Corbet, was a gossip and a character in his way, and
wrote to his sister, who was housemaid at Chateau
Dijon, a letter graphically describing the part he
took in rescuing Miss Cavendish from the clutches
of her father : —
" 504 LUKE STREET, DUBLIN.
" DEAR BIDDY,
" I hope these few lions will find you as well as
they leave me at present, glory be to God for it. We
had a bit of a sthrike for a day or two, and we bet the
masthers, and got a rise of two shillin's a week, and
I send you an ordher for five shillin's for the ould
mother. Things is very dull since the Liberator's
gone — the end of us all, Biddy ; but I leave these
things to Father O'Toole: 'tisn't for the loikes of
THE STARVING ACTRESS. 8 1
me to meddle with them. Masther Stephen can see
other pretty girls as well as Miss Angel, though she
is hard to bate. Last Friday night, after bein' in the
gallery of the thayiter with Con Ryan, I was standin'
outside, thinkin' I might earn an honest sixpence for
callin' a car, when I saw Masther Stephen in the
peltin' rain, without an umbrel, and the divil a bit he
knew it was rainin', so I watched him just to see
what was up, and presently Miss Cavendish, the
great gun, came out, and one look from Masther
Stephen's face showed me as plain as a pikestaff
what he was afther. Before he could spake to hen
as I suppose he intinded (why else was he there ?),
a drunken old fiddler, whom I seen strummin' away
in the band, or makin' believe to do so, came quite
familiar-loike to the girl, catched hould of her, and
asked her bould-like for money. I pitied the purty
crathur when she tould him he had got all she had,
and I am sure sartain it was too thrue, Biddy, for
you would niver be seen at Mass at Father O'Toole's
grand chapel, the pride of the country and of his
honest ould heart, with the make-shift of the ragged
ould cloak she had on her. Masther Stephen, for all
the world like Masther George, knocked the ould
sinner down, and I caught him and held him back
when he got up, and Masther Stephen and his daisy
went off in a car together. Now, what will Miss
Angel think of all this ? On last summer when I was
at home I saw her look different on Masther Stephen
to Masther George ; and, as to that English noble
who carried her missal to Mass for her, and who
Father O'Toole put up, he was nowhere with the
G
82 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
Wicklow boys, Protestants though they bees. I found
out the ould man's name is John Banks, and father
to Masther Stephen's honeysuckle, and Masther
Stephen is payin' a Merrion Square docthor for her,
and a nurse ; and the world is small, Biddy, for the
nurse is Winny O'Carroll, from Glenmalure. I hope
poor Masther Stephen won't ruin hisself. I am glad,
though, he shows a little spice of the divil in him ; if
it was not for that, he would be too good to live.
Rite me just a word how the mother is, and whether
the pains let her rest at night at all at all.
" Your affectionate brother,
"JAMES CULLEN."
For the younger generation it may be here
mentioned that the " covered car " in which Stephen
brought Miss Cavendish home was the predecessor
of the modern cab or " four-wheeler." It was no
wonder poor Gertrude Cavendish fainted in it if the
windows were closed. A Dublin humourist of the
day was asked what he thought of it : " Why," he
said, " I would sooner pay a man for kicking me than
for driving me in it." Still, in wet weather, it was
better than nothing.
CHAPTER XII.
THE CONSPIRATORS.
GEORGE CORBET was devotedly attached to Angel
Molloy. His love for her was perhaps the only
elevated feeling in his nature, When a young man
is in love with a girl, he suspects that every other
man is also in love with her ; he cannot understand
how it could be otherwise, and he is morbidly acute
to perceive any preference the object of his affection
may have for another suitor. George assumed that
his brother Stephen was in love with Angelica.
In this he was mistaken. He also thought — and
perhaps he was not far astray — that if Angelica was
inclined to any man, it was to Stephen. If George
had been told that neither Stephen nor Angelica had
ever any serious thoughts of the other, he would have
scoffed at it ; yet such was the case.
Angelica had returned from France full of the
idea of entering a convent. At the earnest request
of her mother, and influenced by the advice of
Father O'Toole, she had postponed the final decision
on a project which she had by no means given up,
and marriage had never for a moment entered her
thoughts. She only wavered between a religious life
and her duty to her parents.
George was always plotting from his boyhood up,
84 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
exacting his full share, and wasting a double portion
of all the good things of this world, and, at the same
time, marring all his plots by an irresistible tendency
to reckless dissipation. He gambled at cards and
on race-courses, owed money to everyone who
would lend to him, and showed great cunning
and versatility in extricating himself from apparently
hopeless difficulties. He had always been a crack
steeplechase rider, and was the only person who could
get the soft side of his step-mother, and extract
money from her. The Marchesa really preferred him
to Stephen, though, of course, Stephen, as being now
the elder son, was the better match of the two for
Angelica.
George got leave from his regiment, and contrived to
obtain an invitation for the winter shooting at Chateau
Dijon. He soon heard the reports which were circu-
lated as to poor Stephen's entanglement with an
actress, and thought it his duty to inform the
Marchesa. She took the information very coldly,
but was not surprised, having heard it before from
Biddy Cullen. He then impetuously plunged into
the subject which he had at heart, and begged her
help for him to win Angelica.
" And if you won her, how would you maintain
her ? " said the Marchesa.
" I have not much at present. My father is elderly,
and a failing man ; he cannot keep me out of the
title long," he replied, with brutal frankness, and
then added : " The lands go with the title ; and I will
have the Dartmoor estates also through my mother."
He knew he had a worldly woman to deal with.
THE CONSPIRATORS. 85
" Stephen is the elder," she said calmly.
" He is not," he cried, working himself up into
a state of excitement. " I am the elder son.
Stephen, I tell you, is my younger brother." He
looked keenly at the Marchesa, and continued : " If
I get Angelica, I will join her religion, and strengthen
the cause she has at heart." He paused again, and,
the Marchesa not helping him, continued : " My old
nurse, Nancy Bradley, says I was born first, and
that she can prove it."
The Marchesa said carelessly, " Who would believe
her?"
George replied, " Who is to contradict her ? "
The Marchesa evidently considered deeply, and
said : " There is some truth in that. Mrs. Simpson,
at the christening, said Stephen was the elder ; and
on her word he was christened first. Suppose,
George, you did win Angel — who is more obstinate
than you think, and determined at present on a
convent — could you be trusted with her ? You would
first spend all your money, and then break your neck
in a steeplechase."
" I love Angel," he said, " sincerely."
" I am sure you do," said the Marchesa ; " but she
does not care for you."
" I know that," he answered savagely ; " she loves
Saint Stephen, who is now studying an actress
instead of reading for his degree."
" I do not think she loves him," the Marchesa said ;
" she just prefers him to you.'
" She will get in him a penniless younger son, and
an actress's leavings," he retorted viciously.
86 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
" Well, well," said the Marchesa, " if you are the
elder, you must prove it. What do you mean by the
Dartmoor estates ? Suppose you were the elder,
how would you get them ? "
" Because," he replied eagerly, " my uncle Dart-
moor never married ; and though the title goes to a
distant cousin, the estates go to me ; and since the
coal has been found on them, they are of enormous
value."
" I heard something about the mines," said the
Marchesa ; " I thought they followed the title."
" You were wrong there," replied George.
"We shall see," said the Marchesa, moving to
terminate the interview ; " it was well you spoke to
me. Be cautious about Angelica ; do not be hasty
with her. I do not agree with you that Stephen is
thinking of her ; and if she hears about the actress,
she will lose her trust in him."
The conspirators then parted, with a kind of
mutual understanding, neither trusting the other.
CHAPTER XIII.
ONE OF THE GREAT MEN OF TRINITY.
THE poor actress was lying helpless at her
mean lodgings, dangerously ill of a low fever.
Stephen had called in Dr. Greene, whom he had
known from childhood, and who was one of the
foremost of the many celebrated Dublin physicians.
He soon saw that the danger to be feared was
exhaustion, arising from want of proper nourishment,
strain due to anxiety to be equal to the parts she was
suddenly called on to take, and financial worries.
The good doctor was a kindly old man, and a
shrewd observer. He had an interview with the
girl's father, and saw what he was ; and he convinced
himself that Stephen, though he might have behaved
rashly, and without regard to appearances, had acted
generously, and was absolutely clear of any base
intentions.
Stephen had called frequently, had seen the father,
and given him a small sum of money ; and the old
fellow had left Dublin with the company.
On the whole, the manager had behaved well.
He would have nothing to do with Stephen, whom
he suspected of evil designs ; but he entrusted the few
shillings of her earnings owing to her, which were
88 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
very few, to Dr. Greene, to expend for her, adding
£i out of his own pocket.
The doctor was a lover of the theatre ; he had
seen Gertrude acting before she became his patient,
and he appreciated highly her remarkable talents.
The manager, whom he met at a reception, after he
had begun attending her, explained to him that Miss
Cavendish had been engaged at the instance of her
father, who was in the orchestra, about a year before ;
that she possessed a fine voice, and had received some
amateur training as an actress, and was displaying
great promise ; still, until the emergency arose from
the leading actress and her first understudy getting
bad colds, Gertrude Cavendish received only small
wages for very unimportant parts.
" Now," said the manager, " since this affair with
the young nobleman, I suppose we shall hear no
more of her."
"What affair?" said the Doctor; "the young
man did nothing but protect her."
" Protect her from her old father! tut, tut, Doctor,"
said the other ; " you do not know these people."
The doctor, in despair, gave up defending his
young friend, and asked what was her father.
" A broken-down old roue\ who knows music when
he is sober. He was once an officer in a crack regi-
ment. That is all I '— QW of him. He is his own
worst enemy." This was all the information the
Doctor could get.
Meanwhile Stephen, unconscious of the plots
against him by his false brother and the equally
unscrupulous Marchesa, was now confronted with
ONE OF THE GREAT MEN OF TRINITY. 89
another danger — want of money. He had spent all
the ready cash he had in supplying nourishment and
delicacies for Gertrude Cavendish, paying the old
lodging-house-keeper, bribing her father to go away,
and tipping the overworked servant to be attentive.
He had also given Doctor Greene a fee when he first
went to him, to secure his attendance. The doctor
expended the small sum the manager gave him, and
far more, on the nurse and other necessaries.
Stephen not only had no money, but he had
borrowed from a College friend. He was in debt to
his grinder, Mr. Mulcahy, for several terms, and also
to his tailor. Stephen was not a spendthrift ; still, he
had been an Eton boy, brought up with luxurious
aristocratic tastes, and he had the family failing of
not being able to make both ends meet. He was
counting now on getting his quarterly allowance
from his kind uncle, the Bishop, and was glad to see
his welcome handwriting on an envelope. When
he read the letter, however, his joy turned into
consternation.
The letter was as follows : —
"THE PALACE, BALLINASLOE.
" MY DEAR BOY,
" It was a great shock to me to hear that you, the
steady one of the family, were actually living with a
young actress, and maintaining her out of the money
I gave you for your education. Of course, I do not
condemn you unheard, and the very news that you
are in danger socially and morally, instead of induc-
ing me to cast you off, makes it the more my wish
90 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
and my sacred duty to save you, if I can. I am
growing an old man. You were my pride and interest
in this life. I felt that you belonged to me more
than any other human being. It makes me almost
regard it as a visitation on me for being hard on
poor reckless George, and now am I to regard you
as worse, being not only bad, but a hypocrite ? My
news has not come from College or from anyone in
Dublin. The only thing that makes me hope there
may be some explanation is that I had a letter from
my old friend, your tutor, who expects you to get
two gold medals — one in science and one in ethics.
He says also you can speak well, and if you enter
the Church will be an eloquent preacher. Are all
these hopes shattered ? My prayer and trust is that
God may direct you in the right way. Your ever,
no matter what comes, affectionate uncle,
"FiTZRov BALLINASLOE.
" P.S. — I do not enclose a remittance until I get
your explanation. Oh, that you may have one !"
" What shall I do ?" exclaimed poor Stephen. To
go to his tutor was out of the question ; and in his
despair he thought of a young man, not many years
older than himself, who had taken kindly notice of
him on account of the taste he had shown for experi-
mental science. He accordingly made his way into a
laboratory where he thought he was sure to find the
friend he was in search of, and he was successful in
his quest.
Joseph Greatbrain had recently got his Fellowship
ONE OF THE GREAT MEN OF TRINITY. 9 1
on first trial, on brilliant answering, and was now,
wirtThis coat off and shirt-sleeves rolled up, working
away, experimenting in subjects then, for the first
time, coming into prominence, and to which he gave
the chief impetus. He was a big man with a big
intellect, and, what was still more to the purpose for
his visitor, a big, sympathetic heart. He looked a
splendid specimen of his race, with a strong, kindly,
intensely Irish face which could beam on you, if he
approved, and could be stern enough if he thought
you undeserving. Trinity College, Dublin, got such
men by open competitive examination, free from all
favouritism. May she never admit any nomination
system !
" I wish to speak to you for a moment, sir," said
Stephen.
" What do you want now, Corbet ? " said Mr.
Greatbrain impatiently, recognizing the voice and
not looking round. " I am very busy, unless you
have come to lend me a hand, which you are well
able to do " ; then he added suddenly, seeing
Stephen's sad face, " What is the matter, my boy ?"
" The matter, Mr. Greatbrain, is," said the poor
young man, " I am ruined, and I must leave College."
On hearing this, honest Joe Greatbrain flung
away all his experiments, and, facing Stephen, said :
" Tell me all about it ; I will help you if I can."
These few kindly words let loose Stephen's pent-
up woes, and he told the whole story, omitting
nothing.
Mr. Greatbrain listened attentively, occasionally
asking a question ; and, on being shown the Bishop's
92 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
letter, inquired : " Have you any enemy at home in
Wicklow ? "
Stephen replied readily, " I am sure I have none."
At the end, Greatbrain said cheerily, " I do not
think things are as bad as you fear, and all will end
well ; still I am a Fellow, and must not run away
with the case. I have (you must not be offended at
my saying it) only heard one side. I will see
Dr. Greene. Come to my rooms to-morrow early.
Meanwhile do not neglect your work ; you have a
couple of hard men to beat, and I want you to
do it."
The next morning Mr. Greatbrain told Stephen :
" I have seen the doctor, and made other inquiries,
and, instead of thinking the less of you, Corbet, I
think the more of you. I thought you a bit of a
prig, and that touch of chivalry in you, if not let go
too far, will do you good. Mind, do not fall in love
with the poor girl ; you would live to regret it. I do
not know your uncle. The doctor does ; and he will
write and tell him you did nothing wrong or that he
would disapprove of. Still, I think it is better for
you not to ask him for more money than your
allowance ; by a little saving you can get out of debt.
I will lend you enough to pay your debts. As to
dear old Mul, he would not press you ; still, he has
the hardest life in the world — that of a grinder — and
only he did not want to forsake the religion of his
fathers, could now be a Fellow and Professor of
Mathematics, so I have included him in the cheque.
The only question of conscience I had about it was,
if it is right so far to keep your money affairs from
ONE OF THE GREAT MEN OF TRINITY. 93
your uncle ; he does not ask you about them, and you
will not deceive him on the point. The fact of my
lending- |o you will be hereafter the best proof that I
believe in you ; and you can tell him of that also
when you7 meet. Tell him now everything in your
letter, all you paid to help the girl, and everything,
except merely my temporary loan to you."
Stephen was greatly moved by the kindly, delicate
way in which the noble-hearted man stood by him ;
he murmured a few words of thanks, wrung his hand,
and went away feeling that he must have appeared
ungrateful.
About a week afterwards the Marchesa received
the following letter : —
"THE PALACE, BALLINASLOE.
" DEAR MARCHESA,
" Your letter relative to Stephen grieved me much.
I wrote to him at once, and in reply got not only a
letter from him, but also one from a dear old friend
who knew all the circumstances of the case, and I am
perfectly satisfied not only that Stephen did nothing
wrong, but that he acted exactly as I would have
wished. Kind regards to the Count, and my love to
Angel. Yours, &c.,
" FITZROY BALLINASLOE."
At the same time he wrote to Stephen, enclosing
him a cheque for something more than his allowance,
stating he must have been out of pocket, that he
was more than satisfied with him, and would see him
soon.
94 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
Stephen went out at once and discharged his debt
to Mr. Greatbrain, thanking him from the fulness of
his heart.
" All I ask of you now, Corbet," said his friend,
with a twinkle in his eye, " is to come out first gold
in science." And he succeeded in doing so.
CHAPTER XIV.
A LEADING DUBLIN DOCTOR.
GERTRUDE CAVENDISH got rapidly well. She had
a splendid constitution, but she was run down
from the want of proper food. Worry of mind was
the chief drawback. In her illness she raved about
having no money ; and when she got well, the good
old doctor thought it best to tell her the truth about
Stephen's kindness.
" It is necessary," she said, " that I should get well
and repay him, and you your fees also; the kindness
I have received I never can, I never want to, repay ;
it will be a pleasant memory always ; but I cannot
bear to owe money."
The doctor did not intend to take any fees ; still
he was too much of a gentleman to hurt her feelings
by saying so. As to Stephen, he sympathized with
her scruples about continuing to be indebted to him.
Stephen called and saw her. There was some con-
straint and awkwardness on both sides. Gertrude
could scarcely keep from crying, being very weak, and
feeling overwhelmed by the recollection of all that
Stephen had done for her. . She, however, managed
to thank him delicately for all his kindness, adding :
" I shall want to know, Lord Kingscastle, how much
96 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
you have laid out for me. I intend to pay it some
day, but cannot hope to do so for some time."
He called again and left flowers.
The doctor now saw that change of air was neces-
sary, and sent his wife to call and invite her to his
country house. Gertrude went : what else could
she do? It was quite evident to the discerning
doctor, who had daughters, that her earlier surround-
ings had been very different from her life as an
actress, and that he was not introducing foolishly a
dangerous element into his household. The invita-
tion to her was the best practical proof of his high
opinion of her. She timidly gave him a short sketch
of her life.
She had lived near a country town in England with
an aunt, Miss Banks, her own real name being Gertrude
Banks, not Cavendish. She had been brought up
with everything she could wish to have, and had been
educated in the best schools in England and on the
Continent. Her father visited her occasionally. Her
aunt, just a year before, had died suddenly, and she
was left absolutely penniless. She lost her mother
when she was born, and the only remembrances she
had of her were a watch and chain and a likeness
in a brooch, which she showed the doctor. The
portrait was evidently done by a skilled artist, and
was exquisitely finished. Nothing could induce her
to part with these, she said, if she could only pay
her debts by any hard work. Her father, when she
first remembered him, was evidently very different
from the drunken old s6t the doctor and Stephen
found him. Having spent all his property, he had
A LEADING DUBLIN DOCTOR. 97
been playing in orchestras for some years, and had
introduced her, as has been before stated, into the
theatrical company.
Stephen saw her frequently when she was at the
doctor's house. Now, my young lady readers, if I
have any, may here expect a detailed account of the
courtship between these young people so peculiarly
introduced to each other. The present is a telephone,
electric age, and courtship takes up much less time
than formerly. " Had I but world enough and time,
this coyness, lady, were no crime," applies to it, and
to everything else, and novelists have to follow the
age. The friendship, love, and engagement are
" short, sharp, and decisive "; and the heroine discards
her lover for another as easily as she changes her
golfing costume for a court-train. It was not so in
the days of Sir Walter Scott or Jane Austen. Die
Vernon — one of the most human and at the same
time one of the most picturesque of Sir Walter's
heroines — had more coyness than is found in the
modern novel.
But I must confess to my gentle readers that in
the case of Gertrude and Stephen there was no love-
making at all, either slow or rapid. They became
warm friends. Her shyness and painful conscious-
ness of benefits for which she could never recompense
him gradually wore off; and a feeling of trustfulness,
deep gratitude, and admiration imperceptibly took
their place in Gertrude's mind, and was reflected
in her manner. Stephen intuitively perceived the
subtle change, and then naturally the sense of
guardianship of a beautiful, interesting, talented,
H
98 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
young girl, with a sad, chequered history became
very pleasant. No love passages (I must tell facts,
and not romance) took place ; and they were rarely
alone together. " A pity beyond all telling is hid in
the heart of love," writes Mr. Yeats ; and these few
words describe more truly and searchingly than
could a volume of prose the tender feeling gradually
arising between Stephen and Gertrude. Stephen
began by admiring and then pitying his lovely
charge ; soon a warmer feeling replaced pity. As to
Gertrude, her heart went out to her young hero
and champion. How could it all have been other-
wise ? But their feelings were too deep down to be
yet probed by them.
Gertrude was very independent, and was most
unwilling to impose herself for long on the bounty
of her kind friends. The doctor suggested a concert ;
and in concert-loving Dublin, ever ready to assist
musical talent, a successful one was arranged and
carried out. The hall was so full that the perform-
ance had to be repeated ; and Gertrude found herself
in possession of a sufficient sum of money to discharge
her debt to Stephen, to pay the doctor his fees, and
have some balance left.
Stephen knew it would pain her if he did not take
the money due to him, and he therefore took it ; the
old doctor thought his fees ought to be regarded
differently.
" My dear," said he, laughing, " it is only too
provoking that I am not now beginning the world,
for the reputation I have made by recalling you to
life, would make my fortune. No, I cannot take any
A LEADING DUBLIN DOCTOR. 99
fees. I would as soon think of taking them from my
own daughter."
She did not press him further.
Through the connexion she had formed in Dublin,
she got a situation as companion to a titled lady in
London, with liberty to sing at public concerts.
There was no sensational leave-taking between her
and Stephen. The words which passed between
them were very commonplace. He said good-bye,
and hoped she would have a smooth passage. There
may have been (Gertrude was not sure) a tremor in
his voice which meant more than he said. She
answered quietly, " Lord Kingscastle, I never can
forget your kindness. You will, of course, hear of
me from our friend the doctor."
In those days of "prunes and prisms" no letter-
writing was permitted between young men and
women unless they were actually engaged.
It is scarcely fair to pry too much into a young
maid's secrets ; still, we will confess, our brave-
hearted Gertrude cried herself to sleep that night.
This little weakness must be forgiven to the lonely,
stray waif who was entering again into the cold,
hard world, and leaving the cosy, warm corner she
had found in it.
CHAPTER XV.
FATHER O'TOOLE'S SERMON.
GLENDALOUGH, " the Valley of the Two Lakes," has
a beauty and grandeur of its own which preclude
comparison with Killarney, or any of the English or
Scotch lakes, or those of the Continent. Its Round
Tower and churches add a weird, mysterious, and
mystical aspect to the naturally sombre scenery, and
are thoroughly in accord with the gloomy waters
enclosed by precipitous mountains. It is impossible
to separate the merely scenic surroundings from the
antiquarian remains of this ancient city of refuge.
On the 3rd day of June, in the summer following
the events recorded in our last chapter, there was
assembled, close to the Round Tower, a number of
well-dressed people gathered from the neighbour-
hood, and watched, at a respectful distance, by the
peasantry.
The Wicklow girls were then, as now, justly
celebrated for their bright eyes, clear complexions,
and quick wits, which may be attributed to the sharp,
healthy, balmy air of their heathery mountains. But
if they do not change in themselves, their dresses
change, and it would have required the pen of at
" Madge " of Truth, or a " Candid Jane " of Irish
Society, of that far distant period to describe their
costumes. We need only say that they were attired
FATHER O'TOOLE'S SERMON. IOI
tastefully in the fashions of that bygone age. The
party included many of our old acquaintances,
notably Father O'Toole, of whom more anon. Count
Dijon was there, remarkable for his out-of-date coat
with gilt buttons and nankeen trousers, then still
retained by some old-fashioned gentlemen. The
Marchesa, in striking contrast to the rest of the
party, was dressed in black, according to the Spanish
fashion, and wore a mantilla, which she usually did in
summer, to the wonder and admiration of the
country-folk. Her face, dark and handsome as it
was, with well-cut features, was marred by a sinister
expression which never permitted a smile. Angelica,
on the other hand, had a saint-like look, which
suggested to Father O'Toole an angel who had
come down from heaven to bless the holy ground.
George Corbet was there, hovering about Angelica.
Stephen was in Dublin.
Father O'Toole was the promoter of this gathering.
He had chosen the 3rd day of June for it, as it was
the anniversary of the death of St. Kevin, the
patron- saint of the place, who died there in the
year 618 of the Christian era.
Father O'Toole looked a striking figure and
characteristic of his surroundings. On great occasions
like the present he discarded the ugly and eminently
unromantic steeple crown and modern coat, worn
by the clergy of all denominations in Ireland, for the
picturesque hat, flowing robes, and white bands of
his continental brethren. It became manifest as he
reverently uncovered his head that his hair, which
was black when we first met him, had now become
IO2 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
snowy-white, worn long, and still abundant. His
tall figure was quite erect and still almost youthful-
looking. His eyes were undimmed and sparkled
with enthusiasm as he delivered his discourse to an
audience of whom the greater part were Protestants,
on his favourite subject— -the influence of his beloved
valley on the Christian world. He did not in any
wise minimize his own religious belief, or, in a
vain attempt at conciliating others, compromise the
Church of which he was a priest ; still, he dealt
mainly with those aspects of the common faith
which concerned and interested his entire audience.
It would be impossible for us to give his address at
length ; and, even if it were so, the magnetic influence
of the great personality and sonorous, sweet voice of
the speaker would be missed. We content ourselves
with a brief summary, a mere echo of his words : —
" My dear friends, all the human races acknowledge
a Supreme Being, the Architect of the Universe and
of all living things therein. This was the primitive
faith, unalloyed by any worship of any grosser kind —
just pure monotheism. The erection of temples
unadorned by images was the first tribute to this
universal, spiritual Divine Being. These temples
were erected in India and Persia, and their full history
may yet be discovered amongst the dust-heaps of
bygone Eastern cities. Ireland got its builders
from Persia, and probably was largely colonized by
that once leading eastern nation. A Persian origin
can still be traced in its name Irin, or Eriu, or Erin,
or ' Sacred Island' which corresponds to Iran, or
' Sacred Land] the ancient name of Persia. One
FATHER O'TOOLE'S SERMON. 103
of these builders was known and is still reverently
remembered among us in Ireland as the Gobhan
Saer. He erected our older Round Towers ; others
were, from time to time, built in imitation of them.
This famous master-builder had designed them in
honour of the unseen, all-powerful, all-pervading
Architect of the Universe ; and such was this great
builder's lasting reputation that other succeeding
master-builders have been frequently called by his
name, arid have thus been mistaken for him.
These towers and the Persian and other Asiatic
temples, their prototypes, were the predecessors
of Solomon's famous temple, the wonder and
admiration of the halcyon days of that wondrous
race, the Israelites, who were the descendants of the
great Arab Sheik, Abraham. Jachin and Booz, or
Boaz, the pillars of this marvellous shrine, were
certainly erected with the same object, although they
did not resemble in actual structure the round towers.
These pillars and our round towers were erected in
honour of and not to contain God. To contain
God in a temple made with hands is impossible.
The wise Solomon knew that well, and declared it.
God was and is unseen, a Spirit, not a creature,
but, on the contrary, a Creator. He was and is
omnipresent from everlasting to everlasting. Our
own spacious Christian cathedrals were never built
with any vain, wicked idea, that they, by their mere
size, could contain our God, though many of them
are much larger than the eastern sanctuary which
was erected by Solomon as a special tribute of
gratitude and reverence to the Jehovah of his nation.
104
AN IRISH UTOPIA.
" Mankind, alas ! is finite and narrow, and yearned
after what could be seen and handled. The proto-
martyr, Stephen, showed how the human race
gradually degenerated into idolatry, and how they
worshipped the work of their own hands, placing
their dumb idols in their holy places, and gave
themselves up to worshipping the host of heaven,
the celestial fire, the sun, moon, and stars. People
adored what was created, and forsook the worship
of the great Creator Himself. That Creator is
all-merciful, and He sent His only Son to save the
world ; and so God, in His mysterious Providence,
by the preaching of our Blessed Lord and His
Apostles and by a process of development, is surely
bringing mankind through a long ordeal of probation
to worship the Triune God, as manifested to us.
St. Paul told his fellow-countrymen that their Mosaic
law was their ' pedagogue ' to bring them to Christ.
That wonderful code was a great advancement on
the practices, often degrading and revolting, of the
old pagan religions, and prepared, not only the
Israelites, but the whole world, for the pure, elevating
religion of Christ. St. Stephen did not mean to
condemn erecting temples for the worship of God.
He only denounced substituting the worship of the
building itself, or the material things comprised in
it, for the Creator in whose honour the temples had
been constructed.
"God Himself, not man, was the designer of
Solomon's glorious temple ; and though we cannot
hope to raise any future sacred edifice equal to it, it
is our duty to worship God in buildings which show
FATHER O'TOOLE'S SERMON. 105
our respect for the Deity in whose honour and for
whose service they are erected. It is a pleasure in
approaching a city, or even a small village, to see
the temple of God towering above all the abodes of
the people. It shows that God's presence amongst
us and the honour due to Him are not forgotten.
" Ireland, owing to the fact of its being so far
removed from the influence of the mighty Roman
Empire, happily escaped the worse consequences
of the overthrow of that great power. Our Irish
bishops and priests, during those dark Middle Ages,
kept the lamp of Christianity lighting in our midst
whilst it had become well-nigh extinguished on
the Continent. They did more ; they either went
themselves, or sent missionaries over Europe, and
won back souls to the true faith. Yet it must be
remembered that although Ireland in the Middle
Ages was a Christian country, it had not always been
so. St. Patrick and his fellow-workers found our
island 'wholly given to idolatry.' They evangelized
the inhabitants, and they induced them to turn their
heathen temples into Christian churches.
" Our own patron, St. Kevin — the anniversary of
whose translation to a better world and a better life
than is here provided for us we are now celebrating —
came to this valley as a barefooted friar more than
thirteen hundred long years ago, and lived in a cave
of this Upper Lake, in want and misery, preaching to
and humanizing wild and neglected heathens. I can
fancy our Saint standing by this venerable tower,
which had been originally erected in honour of the
great Creator of the universe, and using it as the
106 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
means of bringing his hearers by his saintly character
and burning words to the worship of the Redeemer of
the human race ; just as St. Paul, centuries before, had
preached to the Athenians the same Saviour, taking,
as it were, for his text, an altar he had passed, on his
way to Mars' Hill, which had the words written on
it, * To the Unknown God.' St. Kevin possessed
true Christian charity, which is the perfection of
human wisdom ; he gently guided and never goaded
his flock ; he did not trample on the old associations
of his ignorant hearers by calling on them to pull
down their stately landmark, or to destroy the
pagan buildings which, in the course of ages, had
accumulated around its base. He persuaded them
to dedicate their mysterious tower to Jesus Christ;
and in their sacred buildings to honour Him as their
Saviour.
" St. Kevin prevailed on MacUThuill, the king of
the country, whom he had baptized, to assist him in
his holy mission. In all humility, I must compare
myself to St. Paul, not, however, in his strength, but
in his weakness ; he confessed that he spoke foolishly
when he boasted about himself. I must now speak
foolishly too; and declare openly that I am proud
of my descent from that great king who assisted
and protected St. Kevin in establishing this holy city
of Glendalough.
" Time will not now allow me to give the history
of all our antiquities; we must visit them in detail,
and with our living eyes learn the sermons in stones
which they still so eloquently preach. The principal
churches form the mystic number of seven : first,
FATHER O'TOOLE'S SERMON. IO/
Teampul-na-Skellig, ' the Church of the Rock,' near
the cave called St. Kevin's Bed, where our Saint lived
as a hermit ; second, Refert, the sepulchre of the
kings, in which the MacUThuils were buried ; third,
just outside the enclosure in which we are assembled,
the Church of our Blessed Lady, in which our Saint
was interred ; fourth, within this cashel, and close to
the tower, the Domhnach-mor, the Great Cathedral ;
fifth, in the centre of our ancient city, St. Kevin's
House, often humbly called his kitchen, where our
Saint lived when he removed from his cave on the
Upper Lake, and where, forming part of his house,
he had his private chapel. Here also can be seen a
miniature Round Tower, springing from the roof of
the building; sixth, at some distance from where we
stand, you will find Trinity Church, formerly called
St. Mocharog's Temple, and which has attached to
it the remains of another small Round Tower; and
on the far side of the Glendassan River, and
at a distance of a mile from here, you will reach the
Church of the Monastery, or, as it is sometimes called,
the Priory of St. Saviour's, the last and probably the
most interesting of all the seven churches. Some of
these buildings had, undoubtedly, been pagan shrines,
and contained heathen idols; and were afterwards,
by the mercy of the Almighty, and through the
instrumentality of our dear Saint, devoted to the
service of the true God. It is difficult, nay, well-nigh
impossible, for us now to determine the exact portions
of these sacred ruins which were originally used for
pagan purposes ; but I am convinced that long
before the Christian era Glendalough was a centre
io8
AN IRISH UTOPIA.
of heathen idolatry, and in the eyes of the inhabitants
holy ground. I think, too, that this reflection en-
hances the triumph of our Patron Saint far more
than if he had taken vacant ground and built on it
his Christian temples. St. Kevin not only won over
his hearers to the true faith, but he induced them to
worship Christ where they had previously bowed
down before their graven images. The consecration
of these seven churches and many more by the hands
of St. Kevin or his followers, after his death, was the
result of his energy and fervid zeal as a 'preacher
of justice ' and a winner of souls unto Christ. He
accomplished still more. He founded a college —
a seminary of medieval learning — one of those
schools without which in the dark ages not only our
Christian faith and knowledge, but all classical learn-
ing, poetry, painting, sculpture, and the finer arts
which civilize humanity, and raise us above the
beasts which perish, would have been wholly lost.
" I hope I have not now, in trying to enlist your
attention to these solemn ruins, merely succeeded in
wearying your patience. God in His supreme
wisdom, 'which surpasseth all understanding,' has
allowed His worship to develop from a primitive,
harmless, but unsatisfying belief in a Supreme Being,
through many vicissitudes, into our Christian religion,
which will, I firmly believe, in the Almighty's own
good time, draw all mankind into it, when 'there
shall be one fold and one Shepherd.' "
CHAPTER XVI.
"BY THAT LAKE WHOSE GLOOMY SHORE."
ON the conclusion of Father O'Toole's address, the
company inspected the antiquities with his assistance
and that of the guides.
The guides of Glendalough have been always re-
markable for great longevity, great knowledge of the
buildings and folk-lore of the valley, and great good-
humour. Their longevity has assisted in their handing
down from one generation to another many invaluable
traditions with respect to the former state of those
sacred remains, the time of their erection, and the
names of the builders. Darby Gallahoo, about the
earliest of whom there is any record, is said to have
lived to over 107 years. He was succeeded by Joe
Irwin, Irwin again by George Wynder, and he by
James Brough and Miley Doyle, known as Miley
the Fish. Wynder and Doyle may be said to have
died in their calling. Wynder over-exerted himself
in running after a tourist's car, and Doyle in jumping
a fence.
The reputation of these celebrated guides is now
well sustained by (amongst others) Pat Barrett,
Denny Ryan, and young Pat Barrett, and by Edward
Bolger, who in this unsentimental age has taken the
place of the Kathleen of our youth as the guardian
IIO AN IRISH UTOPIA.
of St. Kevin's Bed, and no doubt has saved many a
life in ascending and descending to and from that
famous cave.
The guides are the repositories of much really
curious and interesting information not to be found in
any book ; and the teasing solicitude for employment,
complained of by Mr. and Mrs. Carter Hall in their
account of their visit to Glendalough, no longer
exists.
Petrie, in his valuable work, acknowledges freely
his obligations to the Glendalough guides for per-
petuating by their traditions the true testimony of
former ages.
There are, of course, two rival theories with
respect to the history of the Round Towers. One —
that supported chiefly by O'Brien, Keane, and
Bourke — is that they were of pagan origin. This
view was the one put forward by Father O'Toole.
The other theory — advanced mainly by Petrie, the
late Earl of Dunraven, Wakeman, and Miss Stokes —
claims for them a Christian origin. Those who
support this latter theory differ among themselves
in fixing the date of their erection. Dr. Petrie
assigns it to the period which intervened between
the sixth and the thirteenth centuries ; while Lord
Dunraven considers that none of them could have
been built before the ninth century. Whichever of
the several views may be the correct one, all persons
must admit that the towers are, as archaeological
remains, of rare and absorbing interest.
There are in the " Annals of the Four Masters,"
which have been translated and edited by Dr.
"BY THAT LAKE WHOSE GLOOMY SHORE. Ill
O'Donovan, accounts of churches of which there
are now no -traces ; and it is certain that there
were also many secular buildings and colleges which
have all perished. The Danes burned or devastated
Glendalough on at least eight occasions, ranging from
the ninth to the eleventh century. Even if, after
these ravages, the then existing remains had been
protected, much would now remain to tell the tale of
former years ; but until recently no care was taken to
preserve the buildings, and their restoration has been
a work of great difficulty. Still, our company could,
with such learned, enthusiastic antiquaries as
Father O'Toole and his ardent assistants, form some
idea of the ancient city in the days of its former
grandeur, when it was the seat of religion and learn-
ing. They were able at all events to realize the
sombre beauty of the locality, making a perfect
natural background to the city and its sacred shrines.
Similarly, the devotional feeling which is aroused by
the representation of the Passion Play at Ober-
Ammergau is stimulated and intensified by the play
being acted in an open-air theatre, amidst the natural
scenery of the rivers and mountains of the Bavarian
Highlands. It is easy to imagine how different the
dramatic effect would have been if it had been
exhibited in a music hall with painted scenes and
artificial light. Equally so at Glendalough : the
natural surroundings undoubtedly harmonize with
the buildings erected by man, and intensify the deep
impression they make on the mind. The gloomy
Upper Lake, overshadowed by mountains and fed by
waterfalls ; the peaceful Lower Lake ; the rugged
112 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
rocks — all seem in character with the old-time ruins ;
but grander scenery, consisting of snowy moun-
tains, huge overhanging glaciers, and roaring cataracts,
would surely sink into insignificance the ancient
tower and monastic remains. The solitariness of
Glendalough is in sympathy wilfh these mystic ruins,
and suits them better than the busy life of a more
prosperous locality, such as a " happy valley " in
modern England, where the antiquities of bygone
ages are often to be/seen in close proximity to steam
ploughs or noisy factories.
Father O'Toole had delivered his address within
the cashel or wall which formerly circled the city
proper. His party now inspected the slender round
tower, which rises to a height of no feet. It was
still fairly perfect, except that it was then without its
conical cap, which has been since replaced, all the
stones which had formed it having been discovered
inside the tower. They also saw the Priest's
House, or Church, close to St. Kevin's Kitchen,
where the clergy of the district were formerly buried,
and which is popularly known as the library ; but
they could not see, as it was then covered with earth
and debris, another church, called St. Kevin's Chapel
of Ease, which lies near St. Kevin's Kitchen. The
foundations of its nave and wall have since been
excavated. It must be either " the Church of the two
Sinchells " or the neighbouring Church of St. Chiaran,
both of which were burnt in 1163, as related in the
" Annals of the Four Masters." It is now generally
believed that the building which has been recently
unearthed is the Church of the Sinchells. They were
"BY THAT LAKE WHOSE GLOOMY SHORE." 113
also shown many curious old crosses, rock-basins,
querns, and other objects dear to the antiquary, and
on which many theories have been founded for fixing
the dates of various parts of the remains.
The only grain of comfort to compensate for the
abandonment of these holy shrines as places for
modern worship is that they now belong to all
Christians of every denomination, whereas if they
had been continuously preserved and kept in repair,
they would have been confined to the followers of
only one branch of our glorious faith. When
St. Kevin founded his sacred city, there was no
time for petty disputations. He created it out of the
medieval darkness; and it was overthrown, as already
noted, by the Danes, who were not then troubled
with religious scruples of any sect or religion.
Our party postponed the examination of the rest
of the churches until the afternoon, and partook of
luncheon, at Father O'Toole's invitation, in the open
air, close to the principal inn.
Irish hotels or inns have been most unfairly cried
down. The Irish, like the Tyrolese, have a real
faculty for innkeeping ; they are naturally hospitable,
cheery, and genial. Owing to want of visitors, until
lately, their hotels or inns were not up to date ; still,
the welcome was there, unless the visitor belittled the
capabilities of the house or its entertainment, or
wounded our national susceptibilities. A few years
before Father O'Toole's meeting the inn at Glenda-
lough was more a house of mourning for people
attending funerals than a house of call for tourists ;
and on one occasion, when a tired, belated traveller
I
ii4 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
was retiring to rest, he found a corpse concealed in
his bedroom, which had been hastily removed from
the bed itself to make way for him, there being no
more room in the inn. No one need fear such
unpleasant skeletons in the cupboards now at Glenda-
lough, where there are several extremely good hotels.
May we hope that no vandal hand of an enter-
prising speculator will ever erect a towering sky-
scraper, and banish all quiet contemplation from
these sacred remains of far distant ages !
Though old Ireland has many drawbacks, she has
some recompenses. A young girl can cycle from the
Giant's Causeway to Cape Clear without meeting
with any insult — on the contrary, receiving many
kindnesses from the inhabitants of the various
districts she may traverse. Her only apprehension
need be that she may meet the roving vagabonds,
often undesirable aliens, who tramp from one
hospitable workhouse to another.
Father O'Toole's light refreshment did not end
the day's outing. Those who were ardent anti-
quaries visited the remaining churches and objects
of interest. The rest scattered, some to visit
St. Kevin's Bed, others to row on the lake.
Angelica, without knowing exactly how it came
about, found herself in a boat alone with George
Corbet. Now, if a young man wishes to propose to a
young woman, a boat on a stormy lake is not the
best place for it, unless the suitor wants to force a
hearing on an unwilling girl. Probably far more
proposals are made in a year on the banks of the
rivers of Dublin, that is the I.iffey and the Dodder —
"BY THAT LAKE WHOSE GLOOMY SHORE." 115
•
the Abana and Pharpar of Dublin — than in boats on
all the lakes of Ireland added together. There are
most romantic walks by the Liffey ; nor is the Dodder
to be despised for love's pleadings ; still, on a
river's bank the fair maiden must be at all events
willing to hear her suitor's burning words, even if not
inclined to be won by them ; she can escape if she
likes. On a lake, alas ! the poor creature is helpless ;
and if the tables had been turned, and love-sick
Kathleen had only been able to inveigle St. Kevin
into a boat, the fatal tragedy of that fictitious
romance might have been averted.
Poor Angelica knew well, once she became a
prisoner, what she had to listen to. Had it come
wholly unexpectedly, she would have been a most
uninteresting heroine ; she would have been merely a
fool. She did expect a declaration, but could not
prevent it. Her mother had no personal influence
on her mind ; there was no sympathy between them.
So far, however, as managing to give this chance to
George, Angelica was helpless in her mother's hands.
To refuse to enter the boat with the old friend of her
childhood, who was stopping at her parents' house,
would have been rude and ungracious, and Angelica
submitted to her lot quietly. George rowed swiftly
out into the centre of the Upper Lake, keeping
as far away as possible from other boats. He was
passionately in love with the girl, but he had no idea
of her character. He imagined that she was an
ignorant Roman Catholic, who would hail his con-
version to the true faith as a triumph, and who would
be tempted with a prospective coronet and great
Il6 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
riches added to her own. Many men equally in love
might have gauged her character better ; but to do
so, it would have been necessary at least to be in
sympathy with her pure, unalloyed Christianity and
her lofty, unselfish views of life. He also entirely
mistook her strength of mind and the proud spirit
dormant in her, which, when roused on a proper
occasion, could flash forth with all the force derived
from her noble birth.
The Upper Lake of Glendalough is unique of its
kind ; it is encircled with mountains, except on the
side next the Lower Lake ; Derrybawn and Lugduflf
mountains are on the south side ; the latter contains
the cave known in prosaic English as St. Kevin's
Bed, and in sonorous Irish as " Leaba Caomhghin " ;
and opposite, on the north side, is the less precipi-
tous mountain of Camaderry. On the clearest day
in summer there is a sad, gloomy hue over this
lake, and the water is often rough and boisterous.
Though the day was unusually bright, some clouds
were gathering in the sky, and Angelica, trying
to escape, said beseechingly : "It looks threatening,
George ; ought we not to return?"
"There is something I have to say to you first,
Angel," he replied almost fiercely ; " something long
in my mind."
" Pray, pray, George, do not say it here," poor
Angelica said : " let us return ; you will have plenty
of time afterwards."
" No, no ; there is no time like the present ; you
must hear it now. I love you, Angel ; I want you to
be my wife."
"BY THAT LAKE WHOSE GLOOMY SHORE." 1 1/
" Stop ! stop ! " she cried ; " I am the bride of
Heaven ; it cannot be."
" But it must be ; and hear me you must — you
shall hear me. I will become a Catholic for your
sake. I will be Earl of Clara, rich and powerful, and
you will be a Countess. You can take your place
with the best in the land ; and you will have me, your
husband, always devoted to you." Then seeing a
terrified look on her face, which showed plainly
that his words were of no avail, he added brutally :
" You would reject me to marry that sneaking hypo-
crite of a brother of mine, who professes to be a
divinity student, and spends his uncle's money on
an actress. By all that is sacred, you must marry
me. If he dares to cross my path, it will be the worse
for him."
George Corbet had overshot the mark. So long
as he dwelt on his love for Angelica he had that
sympathy which every true woman has with a man
she believes truly loves her, even if she knows that she
does not, and never can, love him. The stereotyped
answer often given by a good-natured girl to a
disappointed wooer, that he has paid her the greatest
compliment a man can pay a woman, has become a
hackneyed phrase because it is so true, and no woman
can disregard it altogether. The offer to change his
religion, in the same way in which he would change
his coat, was abhorrent to her ; his prospect of being
Earl of Clara, and rich, she could not comprehend ;
but when he tried to make capital out of what she
believed was poor Stephen's fall, she felt a loathing
for him, which gave her strength, made her disregard
Il8 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
her defenceless position, and display a lofty courage
which had only needed to be roused thoroughly to
assert itself. Angelica had certainly not the Madonna-
like expression of face which was usual to her when,
with her splendid dark eyes flashing like flames of
fire, she replied to George Corbet's threat :
" It is unmanly and inhuman of you with a
defenceless girl in your power to insult her by what
you call an offer of marriage. We have been taught
in our Church that it was a sin for the poor western
peasants, when dying of starvation, to pretend to
change their holy religion for food, and a still greater
crime for others to tempt them to do it ; but for you,
who ought to have the feelings of a gentleman, to
attempt to degrade me to your own level by the
scandalous bribe of offering to change your religion
to win me, shows evidently you think me as base and
contemptible a creature as yourself. What you
mean by saying you will be Lord Clara, I do not
understand. As to your attacks on your brother, you
are worse than Cain. He slew his brother in a fit
of passion ; you deliberately try to destroy your
brother's good name. I tell you I do not believe
your insinuations. I am sure now they have been
invented by you, the lowest and most treacherous of
your many base acts."
George, writhing under these lashes, looked
capable of committing any crime, and, shipping his
oars, made as if to catch her hand. She, at once
standing up, cried loudly : " Don't dare to touch
me, you coward ; if you do not at once row me
ashore, I will throw myself into the lake,"
"BY THAT LAKE WHOSE GLOOMY SHORE." I IQ
He resumed the oars, evidently thought better of
whatever desperate idea he had entertained, and
said, with a bitter, sardonic smile : " I will be
revenged on you, you little spitfire, through that
brother of mine. If I am to have the brand of Cain,
I may as well get something for it."
All through the scene, and even then at its
close, Angelica did not realize the full meaning of
his threats, beyond that he hated his brother, and
intended to do him some deadly injury. He rowed
her to the landing-stage in silence, and she at once
sought out her friend, the good old priest, the
Marchesa standing by and apparently not noticing
her. The company soon after reassembled, and the
party broke up.
CHAPTER XVII.
DO THE CATHOLICS REALLY HATE THE
PROTESTANTS ?
THE Marchesa had, as may be supposed, a long talk
with George Corbet over his proposal to Angelica in
the boat at Glendalough, and she entirely disapproved
of his tactics.
" You have now," she said, " shown your hand
without doing yourself any good."
" She would never have favoured my suit ; she
loves that brother of mine," he answered savagely.
Now, strange as it may appear, the Marchesa had
by no means given up her scheme. She really had
persuaded herself she was benefiting her religion by
capturing a future rich Earl for her Church ; and
knowing Angelica to be devotedly attached to her
faith, and thinking she would be prepared to make
any sacrifice to strengthen its cause, she, with that
obstinate, narrow-minded pertinacity which with
some people takes the place of real strength of
character, was more resolved than ever on bending
her daughter's will to her own. She perceived that
she need not reckon on Father O'Toole ; and, on the
contrary, she knew he had in his possession a book
with an entry of the baptism of the twins, and she
thought this would be of vital importance in frus-
trating the vile fraud she was joined with George in
DO CATHOLICS REALLY HATE PROTESTANTS? 121
committing. It was not hard to raise George's
spirits. She advised him to apologize to Angelica,
and plead as his excuse his devotion for her, but not
to press his suit again until a turn came in his favour.
George was full of contrition. When he cooled
down, he had cunning enough, if not good sense or
feeling, to see he had not only lost his temper and
made himself ridiculous, but lowered himself beyond
all calculation in the eyes of the only woman he ever
passionately adored. Though he spoke bitterly, she
never looked so entrancingly and provokingly
beautiful as when he believed, for the time, he had
irretrievably lost her. He, like the Marchesa, was
more determined than ever to conquer her, as he had
now, joined to a genuine, honest love which any
youth may properly have for a winsome maiden, a
fierce obstinacy not to be beaten in a hopeless race —
a recklessness which is often mistaken for real pluck
and manly courage. He never could win on a race-
course, because he always persisted in backing a
horse he once favoured against all judgment and
reason. He could not understand the elevated nature
of Angelica's religious feeling, which shrank from the
mere suspicion of worldly aggrandisement sullying
her pure, unworldly love for her holy Church, which
in its fervid zeal resembled the deep devotion which
the Blessed Mother of our Lord felt for her sinless
Son, who is our Redeemer. Such thoughts were
completely beyond him. He knew she was a good
woman ; still, he thought her capable of having her
inclinations swayed by the ordinary motives of our
narrow human thoughts ; and though he, for a time,
122
AN IRISH UTOPIA.
kept them in the background, he believed he would
in the end successfully attract her by the prospect of
the dazzling social position of being the Catholic
Countess of a wealthy converted Roman Catholic
Earl in Protestant England, and easily first amongst
the Catholic peeresses of a nation that had forsaken
the true religion for an intolerant Protestantism.
The Marchesa gave George the opportunity of
catching Angelica alone the morning after the f£te,
and he said humbly, and let us hope with a real
touch of contrition : "Angel, I apologize in the dust
for my unmanly and brutal behaviour yesterday ; do
not [seeing her shrink back] fear I am about to
worry you again. Show the sweetness of your
angelic nature by forgiving one who cannot help
worshipping you, and lost his reason when he saw he
could not gain your love. Forget, dear friend — I may
at least call you by that name if no other — my mad-
ness. Be my friend, Angel, and do not drive a
desperate man to desperate courses to drown his
grief. You were once my playfellow ; let us resume
the old relations of boy and girl which we had,
before I dreamed of the possibility of closer ties."
Angelica had had time also to regret her loss
of temper. If ever there is an occasion when it is
justifiable for a young maid to fly into a passion, it
is surely when a lover takes such unworthy advan-
tage of a girl's helpless position as in a row-boat on
a lake. The pure-minded young woman lay awake
the greater part of the nrht after the proposal,
vainly blaming herself for some of the hard things
she had uttered, without knowing how near the real
DO CATHOLICS REALLY HATE PROTESTANTS? 123
truth she had gone ; she did not then suspect the
foul plot her mother and George had hatched, or the
meshes in which they were resolved to entangle her.
She blushed with shame at her defence of Stephen,
seeing, in her ardour in his cause, that she had
given George an opportunity of justifying his accusa-
tion that she was in love with a man who, she
knew instinctively, did not love her. Of course, she
deluded herself that she was only shielding Stephen
when he was not present to defend himself. Still,
she felt that she had no proof whatever that George
was the author of the stories about the actress,
whether they were true or false; and she had to
admit they looked only too true against his brother.
She felt put in the wrong by George's carefully
prepared and apparently artless self-abasement. She
committed the error of too quickly and completely
wiping out a really cowardly attempt to seize an
unwarranted advantage. She humbly faltered, " I
forgive you, George : I was to blame myself."
" Then it is all right, Angel," he answered laugh-
ing ; and respectfully taking her little hand, he
reverently kissed it. Angelica made no resistance,
and the quarrel appeared to be over, and she — for
she was entirely devoid of duplicity — determined to
try and blot it out of her memory. George, after a
terrible blunder in tactics, had, instead of losing,
actually gained some ground with the gentle,
amiable, unselfish girl, who shrank from wounding
anyone's feelings, least of all those of a man she
knew genuinely loved her; and she delighted her
mother and George by more than renewing the
124 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
terms of easy good comradeship which had pre-
viously existed between her and the young man.
The Count had never suspected that anything
unusual had arisen, and unconsciously played into
the hands of the two conspirators by proposing
that George should take his place and accompany
Angelica on horseback to an archery meeting in
the Vale of Avoca, saying, " I am sure, George, you
will kindly look after the horses, and you will not
require a groom at Castlemore House ; there will be
plenty to take them off your hands there."
What could poor Angelica do but remain silent ?
George, of course, accepted the responsibility readily
and was thanked by the Count for doing so.
Angelica did not like it at all. Still, no one could
have been nicer than George in his conduct towards
her. He did not in the faintest way try to renew
his suit; on the contrary, he talked on subjects which
might be listened to by anyone, and withal, with an
indescribable touch of tenderness and remorse in his
manner and voice for having revealed his undoubted
love to her, which he could not have assumed with
bystanders, and which he carefully omitted at the
archery meeting, where he prudently abstained
from making Angelica in the least remarkable by
over-attention, he himself chatting briskly with other
girls.
Angelica was a splendid horsewoman, and fond of
horses ; and she and George had, at all events, these
tastes in common. They had now many outings
together. George was, in his own way, a clever
fellow, and was a pleasant companion to a young
DO CATHOLICS REALLY HATE PROTESTANTS? 125
lady like Angelica who loved horses, dogs, and all
animals ; and when other subjects failed, they talked
about field-sports.
George, then, was able to make himself agreeable
to her. The Marchesa congratulated him on his
success, and thereby only deceived him and herself.
Angelica meant what she said at their reconciliation,
and gave George credit for being thoroughly sincere
when he promised not to renew his suit. She was
very lonely at the Chateau, and liked having an
interesting companion, when he did not make love
to her. Love him she could not ! After the first
painful thoughts of having had to defend Stephen so
ardently had passed away, he was not at this
time much in her mind. She was a blithesome
young girl without a thought of prudery, and
it never entered her head that she was in any
way giving fair grounds for whispers that Miss
Angel and Master George were looking very
much as if they were making a match. The
Marchesa never lost an opportunity of dropping
stray remarks derogatory of Stephen, which Angelica
could not refute ; and after betraying her partiality
for him to his brother, she shrank from showing
her mother that she would be his advocate if she
could ; and as regards poor Stephen, the wily
mother gradually convinced Angelica that her old
friend was hopelessly ruined by his reckless infatu-
ation for the bewitching actress. The Marchesa
did not achieve the same success in turning her
mind favourably towards George. Still she made
some headway even in that direction. The following
126 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
is a sample of one of the conversations which the
mother had with her daughter when they chanced
to be alone together :—
" I am glad to see, my darling, you are kinder
than you were to poor George. There is one thing, at
all events, Angel : he worships you ; and I would be
an unnatural woman if his doing so did not count in
the young man's favour. George and I agree on one
subject : you are the beginning and end of all our
thoughts."
" Mamma," said Angelica, gravely, " he is very
good ; he never worries me since that day on the
lake."
"You were hard on him then," the astute Marchesa
said. " He did nothing wrong ; surely, if the poor
fellow chooses to be a convert to the true, the only
true, Church, such a religious girl as you are ought
not to scorn him for so doing."
" You are mistaken, mamma," replied poor, puzzled
Angel ; " I would like all to belong to our Church,
but not for unworthy objects."
" I do not consider being fond of my darling
daughter an unworthy object, Angel," said her
mother ; " go now and enjoy a ride after the beagles,
and do not worry your little head."
Angel went off, and found George very respectful
and very helpful.
George, in the most natural way, accompanied his
host and the Countess and Angelica to Father
O'Toole's handsome church. This did not look very
odd, as it was tolerably near Chateau Dijon, and the
Protestant church was a long way off.
DO CATHOLICS REALLY HATE PROTESTANTS? 127
An event now happened which favoured the
Marchesa's designs. Father OToole's old house-
keeper died, and she suggested Nancy Bradley as
her successor. This woman had been George
Corbet's foster-mother. Her own child, who was
the same age as George, had died in infancy; and she
idolized George as if he were her own son. Even
before he saw that he could make use of Nancy,
George, to give the man credit where credit is due,
had been kind to her ; she was kept on at Kingscastle
until it was closed, and was then, notwithstanding
the Earl's narrow means, very liberally pensioned.
She was a widow, and lived with a married sister.
She bore a good character, and Father O'Toole
engaged her as his housekeeper.
With Nancy the wish was father to the thought ;
and as George had told the Marchesa at their
original secret treaty and unholy alliance, Nancy was
prepared to swear George was the first-born.
How far at this time Father O'Toole had discerned
the Marchesa's plots, it is hard to discover, except
as shown by subsequent events. He had not then
the faintest suspicion of the diabolical plot to oust
Stephen from his just inheritance. He, of course,
saw the opportunities that the Marchesa made for
bringing George and his pet, Angelica, together ;
and he saw him attending his new church, though
he did not partake of the Sacrament, and was
merely a spectator, and nothing was said as to his
changing his religion. Father O'Toole did not
make him free of his house ; and much as the
Marchesa managed and George schemed, he never
128 AN IRISH UTOPIA,
got such a footing there as his brother Stephen
had gained.
Father O'Toole, who had never been a plotter, was
now growing old. The Roman Catholic secular clergy
are zealous for their own religion, and resent prosely-
tism by the Protestant clergy ; there never has been
apparent, however, in the rural districts of Ireland,
any general instigation by the Roman Catholic
priesthood of their flocks against the Protestants.
Roman Catholic churches are at least as often robbed,
desecrated, or broken into as Protestant churches ;
and the rural Roman Catholic laity treat the Protes-
tant clergy with personal respect. Any signs of
aggressive hostility of the Roman Catholics of the
lower classes to Protestant ministers are almost
wholly confined to the large towns, where the
personal influence of their own clergy is notoriously
weaker than in country districts.
Whatever opinions Father O'Toole may have
had with regard to Stephen and his supposed
backslidings, he kept to himself. No one ever traced
ill-natured stories to this good-natured Christian
priest and fine old Irish gentleman. Outside his
own particular duties, now that his new church was
finished and open, his principal object at that period
seemed to be to try and preserve the old ecclesiastical
remains at Glendalough from becoming lost and
obliterated, owing to the weather and the wish of
visitors to carry away tokens of departed glories.
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE MAKING OF THE PROTESTANTS.
LORD KINGSCASTLE, as we may still sometimes call
him, notwithstanding the plots to deprive him of his
heritage, was duly ordained for a curacy in a leading
Dublin parish.
For a time everything went on as well as his fond
uncle could wish, and Stephen's success far surpassed
the Bishop's expectations. It cannot be denied that
the heirship to an ancient title, and a handsome
face and fine, manly presence, did a great deal in
securing him a favourable reception in his cure, and
in Dublin generally. His Vicar was an amiable old
man, who, through being the cousin of an influential
peer, had got the living early in life. He could not
be accused of being high-church or low-church. The
only decided view he seemed to have was against any
change. He grumbled against the church being done
up, though at the expense of a rich member of the
congregation. He opposed, in a feeble way, a collec-
tion to substitute a handsome, well-toned organ for
an old hurdy-gurdy, which resembled for all the world
a barrel-organ out of tune through exposure to the
weather. The new organ, however, was triumphantly
installed. If he had known whom he was getting,
doubtless he would never have taken Stephen.
Being an aristocrat himself, however, he, was induced
to appoint the son of an Earl as his Curate. The
K
130 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
Vicar's wife was the daughter of a leading country
gentleman. She was a haughty woman, who carried
her head high in the air, and sneered at any society
below the highest. She was really the person
who secured the appointment for Stephen. She
certainly was pleased when he appeared to be
attracted by her youngest daughter, a handsome girl,
who had been just brought out at Dublin Castle.
Her mother also contemplated having her presented
at the Queen's drawing-room in London, in order to
to make her position in society doubly sure and
altogether unimpeachable.
Stephen's zeal outran his discretion, and it ulti-
mately caused his downfall. He did not permit
the new organ to remain idle. He even contem-
plated having the service fully choral, sung by a
surpliced choir. He had a devoted lady-helper in
his Vicar's youngest daughter, who, though willing
to take her fitting rank in the world, was high-
church, and given to good works. With her help
he organized a ladies' Bible class, which emptied
those of all the surrounding churches ; and this was
partly on the merits. He had bright, attractive ideas,
was a novelty, had been highly educated, and had a
facility of exposition. Whenever he preached, the
church was crowded. He had a good, pleasant, and,
at the same time, powerful voice, a remarkable gift of
eloquence, a well-stored mind, and great originality.
Not only were the neighbouring weekly Bible classes
emptied, but also the attendances at the neighbouring
churches fell off considerably.
At this time Ireland was beginning to be inte-
THE MAKING OF THE PROTESTANTS. 131
rested in the high-church movement, then called
Puseyism, which had created such a commotion in
England. Stephen, who belonged to the high-church
party, commenced a series of sermons on "Church
Doctrine." After he had preached two of these
sermons, our old friend Dr. Greene came to him,
and said, calling him by his Christian name (he
had attended our hero, as a child, for an attack
of the mumps) :
" Stephen, telling the Archbishop of Grenada his
faults cost Gil Bias his secretaryship with that
touchy prelate. Well, I am not your secretary, so
I cannot lose that post, but I value your friendship ;
and I am now going, at the risk of losing it, to tell
you a fault you have hid away amongst your many
virtues, like a bird's nest in thick ivy. Will you
listen to me at all events, my dear boy?"
" Of course I will, my kind friend," said Stephen,
trying to be humble.
"Well, then, your fault was and is delivering
those sermons on ' Church Doctrine ' ; and your
only remedy is at once to drop the course. We
Dublin Protestants are only nominally Episco-
palians ; we are still Puritans. No matter how able,
learned, and eloquent your sermons were — and I am
sure they have been all that — they will only make
you unpopular, fill the Methodist chapels, and do no
good."
" I take what you have said in the best part,
Doctor," said Stephen, with burning cheeks, writhing
under these home-thrusts ; " still I must deliver my
message."
132 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
" But, Stephen, St. Paul did not approve of stirring
up strife ; and he gave up preaching at Athens when
he saw it was useless."
" I do not think my course of sermons is useless,"
said Stephen ; " on the contrary, my first two
sermons have, I believe, taught the people something
of the Church to which we all belong."
" Well, well, my boy, you will forgive me ; I have
done " ; and the kind, wise old man left.
Next Sunday Stephen preached the third of his
series, on " Apostolic Succession," in which he
claimed that the Irish Episcopal Protestant Church
had direct Apostolic authority. This was followed
by one on " St. Patrick," in which he argued that
St. Patrick owned no allegiance to Rome, and was
the original founder of the then established Church of
Ireland. There was a regular ferment in the parish,
which spread over Dublin, and was carried by the
press into the provinces. Had Stephen been a dull,
unattractive preacher, he might have escaped. He
was too clever and too eloquent to be safely dis-
regarded, and indignation meetings were held with
the object of rooting out the dangerous weed of
Puseyism which had been planted in Dublin.
One of the churchwardens of the parish was a
hatter. He was an Orangeman, wealthy, and of
great influence amongst his class. He summoned a
meeting of the parishioners ; a wine-merchant was
voted into the chair. The hatter moved a resolution
condemning the new doctrines which had been
started in Stephen's sermons, as undermining pure
Protestantism, and made a very telling speech suited
THE MAKING OF THE PROTESTANTS. 133
to his audience. It was in vain a friend and admirer
of Stephen attempted to argue that Stephen's sermons
were directed against Romanism, as showing that
Protestants had a direct mission from the Apostles,
and that St. Patrick was practically one. This friend
was not a deep theologian, and did not comprehend
much of Stephen's argument ; he was a well-meaning
man, and tried to make peace. He only added fuel
to the flame, and a resolution of the parishioners was
carried by an overwhelming majority, calling on the
Vicar to dispense with the services of his Curate,
Lord Kingscastle, on account of his advocating
dangerous Romanist doctrines.
There could only be one course for Stephen to
take. He resigned his cure, intending to seek work
in England.
The fact is, Episcopacy never has been popular
amongst Irish Protestants. The Reformation got a
chilling reception in Ireland. Gradually the bulk of
the Irish peers and large landowners, including many
descendants of purely Milesian or native Irish chief-
tains, embraced the new Protestant cult — probably, in
some cases at least, to save their estates from forfei-
ture, and to escape being socially ostracized by their
English brethren of the same rank ; but the bulk of
the Irish people, either of native Irish origin or of
English descent, who were in Ireland at the time of
the Reformation, remained Roman Catholics.
The Scotch had been long before Henry VIII's
reign settling in parts of Antrim and Down, and
their descendants seem to have adopted Protestantism
of the Scotch or Presbyterian type. The greater
134
AN IRISH UTOPIA.
part of the rest of Ulster was planted with English
and Scotch Protestant settlers in James I's reign,
with the avowed object of expelling the native Irish
from their land, and extirpating from Ireland the
Roman Catholic religion. From this period onwards
only Protestants were allowed to settle in Ireland,
and they included Cromwell's soldiers, who hated
Archbishop Laud worse than they hated the Pope ;
Quakers, with the views of George Fox ; and Baptists,
with those of John Bunyan ; Scotch, who had fought
against Episcopacy at Bothwell Bridge and Killie-
crankie ; and Huguenots who had fled from France
after the Revocation of the Toleration Edict of
Nantes.
Had William III, after his crown had been saved
behind the ramparts of Derry and at the Boyne,
established Presbyterianism as the State religion of
Ireland, it would have expressed tolerably well the
religious views, feelings, and prejudices of a large
portion of the mixed Protestant population who
were not already Presbyterian, and to whom
Presbyterianism would have been more acceptable
than Episcopalianism. This, however, was not done.
A compromise was, however, sensibly adopted by the
clergy, who lowered the ritual below that of their
English brethren, so as to make it more palatable
to their Puritan congregations ; and any attempt to
raise that ritual to what would be considered in
England a very moderate level in Ireland leads to
angry discussions, and a sure leakage to Protestant
dissent.
Stephen never forgot he was a gentleman, and,
though he did not abandon his principles, fought
THE MAKING OF THE PROTESTANTS. 135
with no one, and left his parish without having
incurred any personal hostility.
Before leaving for England, he had a yearning to
see his native county, and he wrote to the Marchesa
asking leave to spend some time at Chateau Dijon,
and expecting as a matter of course a warm invitation.
He had, indeed, serious thoughts of a surprise visit,
and it would not have been the first time he had
taken that liberty. To his astonishment, he got
a reply from the Marchesa, regretting, in a cleverly
worded, evasive excuse, that they could not have
him. However, a post or two afterwards, a warm
invitation came from Father O'Toole, which he
gladly accepted.
Irish parish priests hear everything which happens
in their parishes. They have a great moral influence,
and an equally great responsibility ; and the fact that
they have enjoyed so much power for so long a period
testifies to their faithfulness in the discharge of their
duties. Father O'Toole heard of Stephen's repulse
by the Marchesa, and he sent his invitation
accordingly.
The Bishop of Ballinasloe had explained to him the
groundlessness of the accusations against Stephen,
and the kind-hearted priest was determined that the
son of his friend, the Earl of Clara, should not
be excluded from the Vale of Clara for want of
hospitality.
Father O'Toole thoroughly enjoyed the visit.
Stephen was a link with the past — the good old
times, when the Earl kept open house at Kingscastle,
and he and the Count, each in his own way, without
136 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
thwarting or interfering with the other, practised the
time-honoured rites of genial hospitality.
Stephen got an invitation to dine at Chateau
Dijon. He was warmly received by the Count.
The Marchesa was coldly polite ; Angelica, shy and
nervous, but not unfriendly. Stephen had, as he
thought, completely lived down the annoyance
arising from the harsh interpretation put upon his
kindness to Gertrude, the forlorn, half-starved, lonely
actress. Dr. Greene's shelter of her, and her
demeanour in his house, and her successful concerts
had caused her to be respected and highly thought
of in Dublin. It therefore came on him as
a disagreeable surprise that his old friends the
Marchesa and Angelica should receive him as they
did. Chateau Dijon was the only place in his native
district where he did not get a warm reception.
The clergy even, to their credit be it said, had the
courage to ask him to preach ; and the result was
most cheering — overflowing congregations and no
murmurs. Stephen wisely avoided controversial
subjects, and made good use of his remarkable
powers as an orator in impressing on his congrega-
tions the great truths accepted by all Christians.
He was, however, uneasy about the Dijon people ;
and he mentioned the matter to Father O'Toole,
who had been an eye-witness of the reception he
met with, forming a marked contrast to former
occasions. The good priest frankly told him he
feared the Marchesa still believed the stories about
the poor actress ; and he supposed whatever Angelica
heard of them was adverse to him. Stephen was
THE MAKING OF THE PROTESTANTS. 137
not in love with Angelica : he fell in love for the
first and last time with Gertrude ; strange to say, he
never felt how much she was to him until he parted
from her ; and he now had formed a settled resolve
as soon as he was able to maintain a wife to seek her
out, and, if possible, win her, for he had no idea she
was in love with him.
Still, he was very indignant the Marchesa should
regard him with suspicion ; and that the pure-
minded Angelica should consider him unworthy of
the regard he knew she formerly had for him was
absolutely unbearable. He did not think of seeking
any explanation from the Marchesa : she had treated
him with a lofty indifference which repelled all
confidences ; and delicate as such a subject would be
between them, he determined to speak to Angelica,
and plainly ask her why she had changed towards
him. The Marchesa foresaw the course Stephen
would probably follow, and she was resolved there
should be no confidential relations between him and
her daughter. Stephen called after the dinner, to
find the Marchesa present, and no Angelica. He
called again and found both mother and daughter in
the drawing-room. He boldly proposed a walk with
Angelica in the grounds. His proposition was not
enthusiastically received by her, and was com-
pletely frustrated by the Marchesa, without exactly
affronting him in a manner he might have been able
to notice.
He had almost given up in despair all hope of
having an explanation with Angelica, when fortune
favoured him. On going to make a call on an old
138 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
family retainer, he met her, airing her dogs. He
asked leave to turn with her, which was of course
granted ; how could the gentle girl be so unkind to
an old, if fallen, friend as to refuse ? He at once
characteristically plunged into the subject which he
had foremost in his mind.
" Angel, why are you so distant with me, who was,
and still wish to be, a brother to you ? Have I lost
your esteem?"
Poor Angelica was taken aback. She was as honest
as he was ; and still she was human and averse to
wounding the feelings of an old, to her more than
old, friend. She coloured up, and, in faltering tones,
said : " I heard stories of you which surprised and
grieved me very much."
" I am glad at last," he replied earnestly, " to have
the opportunity of setting myself right. Beyond
help to a distressed, desolate young girl, if that is
guilt, I am wholly innocent. Ask Father O'Toole,
who knows all about it."
" I do not like doing so. Stephen, were you not
very much with her ?"
" Only, Angel, at Dr. Greene's house."
" At Dr. Greene's house ! " she said, surprised.
Stephen then explained the doctor's kindness.
" Why," said she, " I knew Fanny Greene ; we had
music lessons together. I have lost sight of her for
some time. We were friends. I have stopped at
the doctor's house, and Fanny has been here."
" Then write to her, and I shall be satisfied with what
she says of either me or the destitute actress."
Angelica was half conquered already, and she and
THE MAKING OF THE PROTESTANTS. 139
Stephen had a long walk together, almost on the
old footing of friendship.
Angelica got a letter from Fanny Greene making
Stephen into a hero, and ascribing to Gertrude the
possession of every virtue under heaven; on which
she took a step which some would style forward, and
others, more charitably disposed, noble : she called
at Father O'Toole's, saw Stephen, and expressed her
regret at ever having doubted him.
Now, her mother never heard of either meeting
between them, and when Stephen called again
was greatly surprised at Angelica's cordial recep-
tion of him. She spoke to her about it, and
Angelica explained the matter indignantly. Her
mother was equally indignant; but Stephen could
delay his departure no longer, and had to leave
without meeting the girl again. Enough had hap-
pened, however, to seriously mar the Marchesa's
plans. The feeling that Stephen was unworthy, the
devotion of George, the topic sedulously impressed
on her mind by her mother, that she, Angelica, and
she alone, might keep the young man from destruc-
tion, and be the means, under Heaven, of bringing
him to the true faith and communion with her
Church, had been slowly telling. Now a revulsion
had taken place, and something very like the warm
feeling of love for Stephen, who had behaved nobly,
and was cruelly wronged, sprung up in her young
heart.
CHAPTER XIX.
ANGELICA AND THE BONEEN.
NANCY BRADLEY made a model housekeeper for
Father O'Toole. She had been a lady's maid to the
first Countess of Clara of our acquaintance, and
afterwards went back to Kingscastle as nurse and
foster-mother to George Corbet. She knew the
ways of the gentry, and was educated for those days
much above her position in life. She was a devout
Roman Catholic according to her lights, passionately
attached to George, who took the place to her of his
foster-brother who died, and who had been her onl}
child. Her husband died whilst she was nurse at
Kingscastle. She was delighted to get the post with
the Parish Priest. She was very fond of George, and
in accepting presents from him, which she took gladly,
she thought she was also serving her Church. She
was soon in the regular pay of the Marchesa as a
spy. Father O'Toole became, in an undefined way,
uneasy about her. He found her on one or two
occasions, he thought, spending an unnecessary time
dusting and settling his books ; and if anyone called
for a certificate or a letter, she astonished him by
knowing the exact locality of each of his papers
far better in a few months than his former house-
keeper had known it in so many years. He actually
caught her listening to conversations between him and
ANGELICA AND THE BONEEN. 141
Stephen ; and, indeed, it was only by an accident
Nancy was prevented from giving timely warning
of Angelica having called, and having had an inter-
view with Stephen before he paid his final visit at
Chateau Dijon.
The following correspondence between the Mar-
chesa and George Corbet will disclose the thickening
of the plot between the two arch-conspirators : —
"CHATEAU DlJON.
" DEAR GEORGE,
" Your sanctimonious brother wrote for an invita-
tion here, but was put off, and the next I heard of
him he was stopping with Father OToole. As you
know, our polite priest is silent, and, I fancy, deeper
than we think. Nancy tells me she heard no talk
between them which concerns us. I had to ask
Stephen to dine, and, except from the Count, he did
not get at first much welcome.
"Angel, I believe, thought what we all thought — that
the charming actress was no better than she should
be — and was very cool to him. I think he felt the
coolness ; still I do not see any signs of his wishing
to be more than an old friend to Angel, and I was
hoping you were getting a warm corner in her heart,
until Stephen paid his final visit here. Angel was
then completely changed — quite affectionate to him.
There were tears in her eyes when he left ; and when
she came down to dinner, she evidently had just had
a fit of weeping. Nancy explained all the next day.
Angel — would you believe it ? — called on Stephen at
Father O'Toole's, and read him a letter from old
142 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
Dr. Greene's daughter, Fanny, praising the wily
actress to the skies ; and Stephen, who I am sure was
entangled with the girl, is whitewashed completely.
You had better not write at present to Angel or
come over. Nancy has found where the priest
keeps his old registers, and, of course, she can get
the one the births were entered in by using his keys
when he is asleep. He is failing fast. It would not
do to take the book at present. She read the entry,
and, as she and I remembered, Stephen was first
christened, with a note that he was born before you,
and had a mark on his left arm. The greater the
difficulties in the way the more determined I am.
I think the Count misses you. He heard from your
stepmother your father is now quite an invalid ; but
his memory is still unimpaired, and there is no
immediate danger of his dying. Be steady, and do
not bet.
" Affectionately yours,
" EUGENIE.'
To this letter the following reply came : —
" DEPOT, COLCHESTER.
" DEAR MARCHESA,
" I fear that brother of mine has undone any little
way I made with Angel. Curious how she has taken
hold of me. It makes me steady, however, and
keeps me from races. There is heavy drinking here,
but I am out of it. I was down at my father's last
week. He is, as you were told, very weak and feeble.
I have been consulting a London solicitor, and I
ANGELICA AND THE BONEEN. 143
thought it better to impress upon him that I thoroughly
believe in my own case. He says the great thing
would be, if anything happened my father, to take
possession before Stephen, and then he would
either have to give up or bring an ejectment against
me. The solicitor told me allowing Stephen to be
called Kingscastle was against me. This is all very
well ; but if I made any row about that, my father
would stand by Stephen. When I told the man this,
he said I would have a very weak case if my father
recognized Stephen as the elder. I know that old
bachelor bishop uncle of mine could get my father
to do this if my stepmother gave him the chance
of talking to my father. She hates the Bishop. I
sometimes think of throwing it all up. Stephen is
not a hypocrite, as you think ; he is as good as I am
wicked. Still, it is the only way to win Angel.
" Ever yours,
" GEORGE."
The Marchesa dreaded the Bishop of Ballinasloe
as her most dangerous antagonist in her plot to
deprive Stephen of his title and inheritance. The
Bishop was a shrewd man of the world — a quality
which is not at all incompatible with being, as he
also was, a kindly Christian gentleman. Since
Kingscastle was shut up it had been the habit
to invite him to Chateau Dijon for the sake of old
associations during the grouse season ; and the
Marchesa could not stop the Count writing to him
as usual, without letting him into her secret plot,
144 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
which would be the last thing she would think of doing.
She had contrived to get Angelica asked on a visit, as
she did not wish the Bishop to meet her, fearing he
might have his suspicions raised as to George's
designs ; but, at the last moment, Angelica's friend
wrote that illness had broken out in her house, and
so Angelica was at home and would meet him.
Now the Bishop, though getting stouter than he
wished, still was a good walker, and he had got
out of the Count's carriage, which had been sent
to meet him at Rathdrum, some miles up the
Glenmalure road ; he wanted the exercise, and to
realize quietly old scenes which were familiar to
him from his earliest days.
As he walked along the road by the winding
Avonbeg, where he had often fished, and saw the
heathery hills, where he had often shot his full share
in the old August gatherings, which had now passed
away for ever, the heather seemed to the Bishop to
flower more beautifully on these well-known Wicklow
hills than in his new western bishopric, and the
figures of his brother and poor, exiled Malet
seemed to rise before him. He at length turned
sharp to the right from Glenmalure, up the steep
mountain road which led over the hill to the Vale
of Clara ; he had not gone very far up this other
road when he saw a graceful figure, belonging to
the present and not to the past, walking down,
evidently on purpose to meet him. A lovely girl,
with a mantilla thrown over her head, came trip-
ping along smilingly, and, waving her hand, stood
in his path, " a sight to make an old man young."
ANGELICA AND THE BONEEN. 145
The Bishop felt he could not have got a pleasanter
welcome in Glenmalure, where every house looked
like home. Angelica was attended by two splendid
Irish setters, one red, and the other black and white,
and an Irish terrier, and also, what looked intensely
Irish, a pig.
" Well," said the worthy prelate to himself, as he
kissed Angelica's sweet, upturned face, " if Stephen
can resist this, he is no true Corbet." Then aloud to
the young girl : " I can understand everything except
the boneen, Angel ; what does he mean?"
" The pig, my Lord," said she, laughing, " was
hard to rear, and became a pet of mine. I used to
feed him out of my hand, and he followed me ; and
now he thinks he is a dog."
" I have heard of learned pigs, Angel dear; whether
this is a learned one or not, I do not know, but one
thing is certain, he is a very wise one if he follows
you. That black and white setter is a good dog ;
I am sure he has a keen scent, and I can trace back
the breed of that terrier to Kingscastle. I maintain,"
said the Bishop patriotically, " that an Irish setter
is better than an English setter and pointer put
together, and a Dandie Dinmont is nowhere with
that terrier of yours."
To say the truth, the Bishop rattled on a bit as
the valley and the girl and the dogs recalled old
times ; and not to his shame, but to his credit,
be it written, he was affected, and his voice shook,
though he tried to pass it off.
The Bishop and Angelica then talked of familiar
subjects until they reached the Chateau — a long way
L
146 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
up the road — he thinking it better on the first
occasion they met not to say much about his
two nephews.
The Count gave his old friend a hearty welcome ;
the Marchesa was civil enough. She was willing to
remain friendly so long as the Bishop showed no
disposition to oppose her plans.
Father O'Toole came to dinner, and the party
enjoyed themselves.
On a fine August morning, shortly after the
Bishop's arrival, he and Angelica, with the setters,
but without the terrier and pig, started up, at the
back of Chateau Dijon, to .try the prospects of game
for the 2Oth, though the Bishop had no intention
of shooting.
The purple heather was in full bloom, and the air
fresh and balmy ; and when the portly Bishop got a
little out of breath, he appealed to his gentle com-
panion, who was as fresh as a rose and as little
distressed as if she were walking on a level sea-
beach, to turn and look at the glorious view, and well
it repaid them. The day was clear, and free from
haze. They could see right across the Valley of the
Avonbeg and the moraine which closes it in on the
far side from them, and then beyond the valley, and
towering over it, they saw Lugnaquilla, the loftiest
mountain in Wicklow, with its topmost peak just
tipped by a fleecy cloud, which adcfed to the beauty
of the scene. The Vale of Avoca is pleasanter, and
more suitable for residence than Glenmalure ; but
the latter valley is wilder and grander, and, like some
of the Scottish Highland glens, is still full of the
ANGELICA AND THE BONEEN. 147
wonderful stories of the savage wars of former days.
At the time we are writing of, it contained old people
who gave thrilling accounts of the stand made there
by the rebel leader Holt after the rebellion of 1798,
and of the manner in which he had defied the British
soldiers for months in these fastnesses.
The Bishop had heard that George had been
stopping frequently of late at Chateau Dijon, and
that Stephen had been staying at Father O'Toole's ;
and he was curious to know the reason why the
wilder, younger, and less desirable of the twins was
evidently made more welcome than his steadier
and elder brother. He remarked : " George has
been here a good deal of late ; is he expected for
the 20th?"
" No," said Angelica simply ; and the Bishop said :
"Stephen has been with Father O'Toole?"
" Yes," was the sole reply.
The Bishop, so far, had not made much way, and
was a little nettled ; and he then, turning and look-
ing at the girl, said gently : " Which of the two do
you like better, Angel ? I know they both like you,
and I admire their taste."
Angelica laughed, and said : " I fear, my Lord,
you are a flatterer. They were both playmates of
mine. I agree with you ; I prefer Stephen ; and if it
had been in England, I would have gone to hear him
preach ; but I could not, of course, according to the
laws of my Church, hear him in Ireland."
"Then why," said the Bishop, "has George been
visiting so much here, and Stephen not at all ? and
if you have scruples about entering a Protestant
148 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
church, I hear George has none such as to entering
one of your faith."
Angelica blushed scarlet, and remained silent.
He answered himself by saying aloud : " I was
taking the privilege of an old friend, dear Angel,
and perhaps asking you too many troublesome
questions. I am glad you prefer Stephen. I should
not like you, whom I remember growing up under
my old eyes, and have always dearly loved, to be too
friendly with George. Your mother does not like
Stephen, and nearly created a quarrel between him
and me."
" Neither my mother nor George likes Stephen,"
replied Angelica. " I also was set against the poor
fellow ; and, instead of his acting wrongly, Fanny
Greene writes and tells me that he saved the life of
a poor young innocent girl."
"Why is this?" said the Bishop, who had now
become more interested than he had expected.
" Why should they be against him ? Has George,
who has nothing, the impudence to run down
Stephen, and ask you to marry him?"
Angelica hesitated ; and then it flashed through
her mind it might be right to warn Stephen's uncle
of George's animosity, which this direct question
had put vividly before her. She also suddenly
remembered that George had plainly told her that,
as his wife, she would become Countess of Clara,
and she recalled his threats against Stephen. She
then told him that George had asked her to marry
him, and said he was the elder son, and that he
was jealous of Stephen ; adding, with a nervousness
ANGELICA AND THE BONEEN. 149
which did not escape her discerning listener, that
Stephen had never shown any feeling but friendship
for her, and George's jealousy was utterly ground-
less. The Bishop was puzzled, and thanked her for
putting him on his guard, and they then drifted into
talking about other matters.
The Marchesa eyed the two mountain-climbers,
as she playfully described them, attentively at dinner;
and being a conspirator herself, her guilty conscience
divined that they were conspiring also. She
approached the Bishop on the question of his
favourite nephew, Stephen.
" Why, my Lord, is Stephen a working clergyman?
is it because he has no expectations?"
" Every man, madam," replied the prelate gravely,
"ought to have a career according to his vocation
in life. Stephen, in my judgment, has chosen the
noblest of all."
The Marchesa pursued the subject no further ; she
feared lest in trying to find out the Bishop's plans
she might betray her own.
CHAPTER XX.
WHAT HAS BECOME OF FATHER O'TOOLE'S
REGISTER ?
THE Bishop of Ballinasloe was much exercised in
his mind by what he had heard from Angelica.
Neither she nor the Bishop had yet grasped the
nefarious plot against Stephen ; but he had heard
enough to make him uneasy, and he called on
Father O'Toole to ascertain, if possible, exactly how
matters stood.
The worthy priest, however, knew nothing more
than Angelica or the Bishop. He indignantly denied
that George had been received into the Roman
Catholic Church ; and he hoped Angelica would not
be persuaded by her mother to marry him.
" And, why," said the Bishop, " does the Marchesa
want the marriage ?"
" I do not know, Bishop," replied Father O'Toole
wearily, "what plot that restless, ambitious woman
has ; no doubt, she thinks the so-called conversion of
George may be a feather in her cap; and I cannot tell
what is the meaning of George's boast to Angelica
that if she married him she would be a Countess ; he,
surely, does not deny Stephen is the elder. I baptized
him as the elder, and entered it in my book. I got a
warning to do so from a previous case which arose
FATHER O'TOOLE'S REGISTER. 151
in this very parish as to which of two brothers was
the elder. I will show you the entry," he said,
rising, and going to his simple muniment box.
" I wish you would ; I always regarded Stephen
as the elder, though it was not a matter of any
importance until my nephew Michael was killed in
India after that flinty-hearted sister-in-law of mine
had banished him there. I cannot recollect my
brother ever referring to the subject ; and Stephen's
poor mother never mentioned it to me, she was so
offended I did not come down personally to christen
the boys, which you did just as well. May I ask
you, Father, the name of the person who told you
Stephen was the elder, when you were performing
the rite of baptism ?"
Father O'Toole was silent for a minute, and then
said : " I cannot just now remember ; the name may
come to me when I recall the scene. I never heard
the question debated until now. I formally asked
which was the elder, and was certainly told that it was
Stephen ; there is no doubt about that, and I wrote
it in my book, with the name of the person who told
me. However, I will get the entry itself."
He then opened the box with a simple key, and
proceeded to take out his registry books.
" Here is the oldest I have. They are all indexed."
Father O'Toole hunted amongst them ; first making
a joke of not laying his hands on it at once ; then
getting more serious; then losing his head and
patience, and tumbling all the books out in a heap.
The Bishop knew the year, which was on the
back of each book. After a long search the Bishop,
152 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
the calmer of the two, got all the books in order, and
it was clear they were all there, except the one they
wanted : it was missing !
" Have you been looking up an entry lately,
Father?" said the Bishop; "you may have put it
aside in some other place ?"
" I tell you," said the poor priest excitedly, " I
have not opened that book for years. No one has
disturbed it."
" Has anyone access to it?" said the Bishop.
" No one. My new housekeeper, since I got rheu-
matism, occasionally takes the keys and opens the
box for a book, never for one of these old books."
" And your new housekeeper is Nancy Bradley,"
said the Bishop ; " I know her well ; she's all
right."
Nancy was called in, and said that she knew nothing
about the book. She answered quite readily, and did
not seem in the least taken by surprise ; in fact, she
had been listening at the door, and heard all that was
going on. The two old men discussed and re-discussed
the matter, and went into the Marchesa's motives,
getting gradually more and more mixed, instead of
clearer, over the transactions. Father O'Toole told
his friend plainly he feared for a time Angelica would
submit to her mother and consent to wed George ;
but he had no fear on that point since she had dis-
covered Stephen had been slandered, and George's
duplicity and plots against his brother ; in fact, the
good priest said that he feared Angelica was now
in love with Stephen, and that he only had warm,
friendly feelings for her, and nothing more.
FATHER O'TOOLE'S REGISTER. 153
" Would you like the match, Bishop ?" he asked.
" No, and yes," said the other slowly. " I look
on Stephen as my own son. I could not be fonder
of him if he actually were so ; and Angelica is rightly
so called, for she is an angel, heavenly, beautiful,
divine, rather than human, perhaps more suited for
the cloister than this work-a-day world with its petty
ambitions and jealousies ; but" — here the good man
smiled sadly — " until your old friend J. K. L.'s union
of hearts and creeds is effected, I do not like mixed
marriages."
" Neither do I," said Father O'Toole ; " but, then,
Bishop, neither of us is a young man ardently in
love with a young woman of a different faith.
Stephen, if he loved her, which I do not think he
does, might, if such were the case, find strong
arguments in favour of the marriage."
" Well," said the Bishop, reflectively, and as if his
mind were made up on the matter, " if Stephen told
me he wanted to marry dear Angel, I would say
nothing against it; still, I would wish her to be a
Protestant if she accepted him. As long as she
does not marry a Protestant, I think her present
faith becomes her well ; there could not be a better
Christian, or one surer of heaven."
" Stephen will never put you to that test," said the
priest gravely. " He loves the girl as a sister; he
will never want to marry her. Angel, on the other
hand, loves him, and I am glad she will never be
tempted by a proposal from him — a terrible conflict
would then rage in her, whether she would follow
love or duty. She thinks her vocation is, as you have
154 AN IKJSH UTOPIA.
said, the cloister. The only solace to her would be
if Stephen became a Catholic, as so many of your
ritualistic clergy have. I think where two of different
creeds marry, they, at all events, ought to have a
union of Christendom, and have one united religion :
that is where the practical difficulty arises ; which is
to give way ? Jimmy Doyle, if he had lived, might
have solved it, ere the world got so critical as it now
is, when harmless old customs are magnified into
errors, and Christian charity, though never so much
applauded as nowadays, is less practised than
formerly."
" To return to the subject we have at heart,"
rejoined the Bishop : " we both love Angel and
Stephen, and we both regret George is not what we
would wish him to be. Angel's love for Stephen will
never let her marry his brother, who wants to injure
him. I must see my brother about this, and take care
that inr4his old age he blesses Esau and not Jacob."
" Now I remember," said Father O'Toole ; " it all
comes back to me. I warned them at the christening
not to put Ephraim before Manasseh, and good
Mrs. Simpson, who held Stephen, said: 'No fear of
that : this is the elder ; this is Manasseh, and he is
the finer boy of the two ' ; and Nancy Bradley was
there holding George. By the way, she was talking
to me of it the other day. I think she was trying to
find out what I remembered. She evidently favours
George, though she tries to conceal it"
He then, notwithstanding the stiffening of his
joints, got up quietly and opened the door suddenly,
when both the men saw Nancy moving quickly
FATHER O'TOOLE'S REGISTER. 155
away, and Father O'Toole cried after her : " Bring
us coffee, Mrs. Bradley," and, shutting the door,
whispered : " She was manifestly listening."
" Certainly," said the Bishop, " there is no doubt
of that. I thought she would have been all right.
By the way, who recommended her ?"
" The Marchesa."
" Then I advise you to get rid of her ; we must
counteract some plot which is evidently hatching."
These two good old men were bad detectives.
Both had plenty of common-sense, but the honesty
of their natures found it almost impossible for them
to realize the nefarious wickedness of the scheme
which was slowly unfolding. A crime, unless
committed by a lunatic, has some motive ; the
motive, even when the perpetrator is quite sane, is
often so remote, so unsubstantial, that it actually
renders it the more difficult to discover. Here a
young man, in a vain attempt to win the girl whom
he loved, for his main object, and a peerage and
estates as additional secondary temptations, was
willing to blast the reputation and ruin the career of
a twin-brother who had always aided him and helped
him out of many a scrape. Still, there were here
ordinary human motives — love, jealousy, pride of
rank, and greed of gain.
The Marchesa was harder to understand, and it
might have puzzled her to fix on her leading motive
for her intended crimes, of which she was the relent-
less instigator and originator, as she led and tempted
George to join her in them. She had passionately
loved her son. She was willing to sacrifice husband,
156 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
daughter, herself, and everyone for his advancement ;
he was taken from her, and she became ambitious
for her daughter, of whose beauty, accomplishments,
and attractiveness she was justly proud. Had she
carried her to England or the Continent — had
Angelica been willing to obey her, without any plot
or intrigue — the Marchesa might have easily secured
a brilliant alliance for her now only child.
The Count was averse to leaving the Chateau
Dijon, and the Marchesa had got out of touch with
the world ; she, therefore, was almost restricted to
the twins. She unhesitatingly chose Stephen as the
elder, the better conducted, and the one she saw
Angelica favoured ; she slowly perceived, to her
astonishment and indignation, that he evidently did
not fancy Angelica. In her rage against the man
whom she considered had rejected the hand of her
daughter, she turned to his brother ; and in order to
make George a fit suitor for Angelica, it became
necessary to overthrow the brother, whom she was only
too anxious to punish for his insolent indifference, and
for thwarting her schemes. Slight and visionary as
such motives appear to be for such dastardly crimes,
they are stronger than many which have convulsed
the world. Father O'Toole and the Bishop could
not fathom them ; but they were slowly and
reluctantly learning that, whatever the motives
might be, a conspiracy was in existence which they
were bound for every reason to defeat as best they
could. They sat long over their coffee, and then
strolled slowly to Chateau Dijon, and met Nancy
Bradley just leaving the place as they entered. She
FATHER O'TOOLE'S REGISTER. 157
looked annoyed at meeting them, and the two friends
exchanged meaning looks as she passed by them.
It was easy to see she had been carrying news to the
Marchesa.
The Bishop would have left at once, only he did
not wish to offend the Count, whom he acquitted of
having any connexion with the plot, and he did not
wish to arouse the Marchesa's suspicions.
As he and the Count were sitting over their wine
after dinner a couple of days later, the Count,
remaining silent for a few moments, then asked the
Bishop what he thought of his nephew George,
adding : " The Marchesa, I fancy, though she has not
confided in me, evidently wants to marry him to my
Angel. We are old friends, Fitzroy. I do not like
the man. If it were either of your nephews, I
would prefer Stephen ; still, she could not marry a
Protestant parson, and it struck me he was not
anxious to win her. George is evidently devoted
to Angel. I fear, though, he bets and gambles and
drinks too much. You are not offended with me,
Fitz, old fellow ? Angel is all that is left to me, and
you yourself have seen her grow up ; you would not
like to see her unhappy, or marry a scamp, which
George, I am afraid, is? "
" Count," said the Bishop, solemnly, " I love
Angel. I would give her to my favourite nephew,
my adopted son, if both of them had their hearts set
on it. On account of the difference in religions and
his profession, I agree with you the match would be
unsuitable. As to George, I would sooner follow
Angel's coffin to the grave than see her married to
such a blackguard."
158 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
" Then, Fitz, you think badly of him ? "
" Could not think worse," was the reply.
" I do not think Angel will marry him. My wife
never could influence her in important things ; and if
I find it necessary, I shall interfere. I hear nothing of
his coming over. It may be a needless fear ; still,
I am glad I had a talk with you. Have another
glass of claret."
They had another glass together, and joined the
ladies, when Angelica sang sweetly a Spanish ballad
for them to her mother's accompaniment.
The Bishop left the next day.
CHAPTER XXI.
THE THEATRE ELEVATES AS WELL AS DEPRAVES-
AUGUSTA, Lady Stonehenge, lived in Grosvenor
Square. She was an elderly, stately, kindly, clever,
rich old woman, and the Dowager of the twelfth
Lord Stonehenge, and she looked down on the
new mushroom additions to the House of Lords.
She at one time was likely to become an important
social political leader, with an influential salon.
The death of her husband, who was a Cabinet
Minister, put an end to all such aspirations. She
had no son ; and the peerage went off to a distant
cousin of her husband. She had four daughters, all
of whom had flown away from her nest, and were
well married. The last of them had only left her a
couple of months, and Lady Stonehenge felt very
lonely. She poured out her feelings on this subject
to her old friend, Lady Mildred Northallerton, who
was herself a widow, and was at the time at which
we are now writing on a visit to her niece, the wife
of the Lord Lieutenant in Dublin. Lady Mildred
replied, saying that an accomplished young person, a
Miss Gertrude Banks, who was then in Dublin,
might answer as a companion ; that she had heard
a good deal of her from a Mrs. Greene, the wife of
160 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
a leading physician, professionally engaged at the
Castle. Lady Stonehenge wrote back to Lady
Mildred, begging her to make further inquiries, and
got the following letter : —
" VICEREGAL LODGE, DUBLIN.
"DEAR GUSSY,
" The season is over at last. It wound up with a
Ball on St. Patrick's Day. You know I do not like
the Irish. I think them quarrelsome and trouble-
some ; still, there are very pretty girls amongst them,
with awful brogues, and fine-looking young men,
who dance awkwardly. I know I am the most good-
natured old woman in the world ; and I pity you
since you lost Mabel. I saw Mrs. Greene. She
says Gertrude Banks is a daughter of Captain Banks,
who a long time ago was in the 3Oth Hussars. I
just remember meeting him. He went to the bad
and lived on his sister, and the sister reared Gertrude ;
and when she died, the girl went on the stage, and
fell ill in Dublin, and was taken up by Dr. Greene,
and has been living with them for some time.
Mrs. Greene has her with her own daughters, and
praises her highly. The Bankses you must have
heard of. They have a fine old family seat in
Worcester, called Millbrook Chase. I got an invita-
tion for Mrs. Greene and the girl to a private
luncheon at the Viceregal Lodge, and she fairly
surprised me. She has not a bit of an under-bred
actress's manner; she is quiet, refined, and aristo-
cratic in looks and every way ; can speak several
languages fluently, and sing and play splendidly.
THE THEATRE ELEVATES. l6l
I spoke to her about you, and she is satisfied to go
to you on trial. I sent you all my news in my
last.
" Ever yours,
" MILDRED NORTHALLERTON."
Lady Stonehenge had great confidence in the
knowledge of the world and penetration of her friend.
She got Gertrude over on trial, and took a great
fancy to her. Lady Stonehenge believed in blue
blood, and the girl being a Banks, of Millbrook
Chase, satisfied her on that point. Gertrude had
been brought up in refinement by Miss Banks, and
showed her patroness that she was quite able to pour
out tea and coffee, and play and sing, and act the
assistant hostess at Lady Stonehenge's receptions
and more private little gatherings. The girl had all
the instincts of a lady ; and her year on the stage had
done her good, not harm. Many well-meaning
people uncharitably and ignorantly brand all actors
and actresses as dangerous, dissolute characters. If
they inquired, they would learn that they include as
well-born, highly-bred, honourable men and women
as there are to be found in the world. There is
certainly as great a difference between a high-class,
well-living young actress and htfr degraded sister as
there is between a play of Shakespeare and a play
of Mrs. Afra Behn. Gertrude's ambition when she
joined the stage had been to fit herself for the leading
characters in Shakespeare and other first-rate plays;
and the study of them, and the interest she ha
taken in what she regarded as her profess"
M Jon
162 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
enlarged and strengthened her naturally good intel-
lect, and in no way injured her instinctive purity of
thought. She also prided herself upon her family,
was determined in no way to lower it, and felt it
due to the memory of her aunt, whom she regarded
as a mother, that she herself should maintain the
bearing of a lady, though she was only a struggling
actress. Naturally she was stunned when she heard
of her forlorn condition on Miss Banks's death ; still,
she felt no resentment, as she knew the old lady
had intended to leave her well provided for. She
had, by her will, left a small estate to Gertrude;
but it was found after her death she had no power to
do so, her interest in it having ceased with her life.
Lady Stonehenge at first, when she went out
to receptions and for drives, left Gertrude at
home. Gradually and imperceptibly the girl got
beyond being merely a humble companion, assisting
in doing the honours in Grosvenor Square. Visitors
were attracted by her ; and Lady Stonehenge was
surprised by several of the most exclusive of them
actually including Miss Gertrude Banks in their
invitations to receptions and, afterwards, even to
dinners.
She was paid large sums for singing in London
at some very select concerts ; and, besides, Lady
Stonehenge insisted on giving her dresses for
the private entertainments she was now asked to
ccompany her to.
^very really good-hearted lady is a born
hmaker ; and Lady Stonehenge observed with
nent and delight that, in a marked manner,
THE THEATRE ELEVATES. 163
the number of young men surprisingly increased at
her own afternoons and private receptions. To her
amazement Gertrude did not seem as glad to talk to
them as they to her ; and there was an undercurrent
of sadness in her she could not account for altogether
by the unexpected reverse of fortune she met with
in her aunt's death.
One of the young men who seemed most attracted
by her was the young Earl of Church Stretton,
who was the eldest son of the Marquis of Wrekin,
and an officer in the Coldstream Guards. He was
a handsome man of average abilities, and he had
the reputation of being fairly steady for a young
nobleman about town. The peerage had been a
poor one until Lord Church Stretton 's father, the
existing Marquis, married a rich manufacturer's
daughter ; and, as there was a large family, it was
considered desirable the heir to this ancient title
should also marry money. His attentions to Gertrude
became, however, very marked. Lady Stonehenge
watched her narrowly, and observed that, without
any decided action on her companion's part, she
managed to keep him at a distance, and avoid
tete-d-tSte, and in a surprisingly clever way to con-
trive that some other youth should turn over her
music for her, or pay her many of the little courtesies
winning, attractive young girls usually receive.
Lady Stonehenge was fairly at a loss how to
iccount for her companion's indifference to the pros-
set of a good settlement ; and, as was her wont, she
)ured out her thoughts in a letter to Lady Mildred,
who had returned to her dower house in Yorkshire.
164 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
" GROSVENOR SQUARE.
" DEAREST MILLY,
" Come up for a few days and see what is going
on. The Austrian Prince is here, has come to
my reception, and talks French and German alter-
nately to my factotum, Gertrude. Dearest Milly, I
cannot make her out. She is either the deepest
hypocrite or the best creature I have ever met.
Young Church Stretton haunts my house. It is easy
to see Gertrude is the attraction. In the most
marvellous way, without offending him or doing any-
thing marked, she keeps him at a distance. At first
I thought she was doing the actress — wanting to lure
him on, entangle him inextricably in her meshes,
and prevent his family taking the alarm. I cannot
now think it. Only imagine, my usual invitation to
dinner at the Wrekins was accompanied by an
invitation to Miss Gertrude Banks. Now, Church
Stretton can do anything he likes with the Mar-
chioness, his mother. You remember her, Milly, the
year she was presented, an amiable, plain little thing.
He has, of course, managed this invitation. Gertrude
wanted not to go. ' Why?' I said. ' Because,' said
she, ' it is taking me out of my position.' I said :
' The Bankses of Millbrook Chase were a fine old
family, and anyone can see you have breeding/ ' I
know now that I do not belong to that family, Lady
Stonehenge,' she answered, in a trembling voice,
as if she could scarcely keep from crying. 'Why,
what do you mean?' I said; and she then replied:
' The last talk I had with poor old Captain Banks,
whom I always regarded as my father, I gathered
THK THEATRE ELEVATES. 165
from him that I was not even distantly related
to him. He was very confused, and muttered
something about my being adopted ; and gave me a
box with old faded letters and some trinkets, which
I have never had time to go through. In fact, kind
friend, I feel like on the brink of some terrible
precipice ; I do not want to know who I am.' I did
not like to say anything to Gertrude then about
Church Stretton ; but if Emily Wrekin chooses to
ask the girl to dinner, I cannot be blamed if her son
marries her. I just said, by way of ending the con-
versation, but gently, to the poor child (why is it I
am so fond of her, Milly ? Am I getting dotty ?) :
' I would like you to go this time, Gertrude ; we will
talk about your own affairs some other time ; they
may prove better than you think.' She agreed, and
we went. The Austrian Prince and Church Stretton
contended for her. I never saw her look so hand-
some. I gave her a white muslin evening dress. She
wore my pearl necklace, a gold watch and chain she
had of her mother's, and a brooch with a likeness of
her mother in it, and some of her hair. She is a
mystery to me. I often fancy she was fond of some
one before we met. She not only does not flirt, but
even is apparently quite indifferent to admiration.
The Marquis introduced himself to her, and they had
a long chat ; and only think, Milly, he saw us out
to our carriage. I have often dined in the house,
but I was never paid such an attention before.
" Your loving friend,
"AUGUSTA STONEHENGE."
l66 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
After a few days came a long letter from Lady
Mildred, from which it is only necessary to give the
following extract : —
" I agree with you, Gussy ; you are getting ' dotty ' ;
take care that mysterious young woman does not
forge your name and steal your jewels ; your neck-
lace I consider you have virtually given her in your
dotage. No, thank you, I could not bear the journey
to London just now, I would have too much carriage
travelling. I am invited to Wrekin Castle ; perhaps
I may meet you there and your knowing companion,
on the look-out no doubt for a catch, if she has not
secured one already. I feel I am responsible for
recommending her to you ; if we meet at Wrekin, I
will watch her, and take notes."
Lady Stonehenge questioned Gertrude about what
the Marquis was saying to her. She simply said :
" He asked me could I possibly be related to him,
as I was very like his mother, and I told him I
thought not. He also told me he wished Lord
Church Stretton to marry and settle down in one of
his country seats."
" That means," remarked Lady Stonehenge, " that
you will see no more of the Wrekins."
" On the contrary," said Gertrude ; " he said that
you, dear Lady Stonehenge, were asked to Wrekin
in the autumn, and that I should accompany you."
" That's the most wonderful thing of all," said the
old lady ; " wonders never cease."
We must here explain that Gertrude when settled
at Lady Stonehenge's found out with great difficulty,
through the manager of the theatrical company,
THE THEATRE ELEVATES. 167
what had become of Captain Banks, whom she never
doubted to be her father. She heard he had been
dismissed for drunkenness, and traced him to a
wretched room, where he was found by her, starving
and in rags. She had him removed to comfortable
lodgings, and looked after him tenderly, but had not
to do it for very long ; and before his death he
made the startling revelations to her which she had
imparted to Lady Stonehenge, as she thought she
was bound in honour to do.
CHAPTER XXII.
ALL FRIENDS ROUND THE WREKIN.
THE Marquis of Wrekin was brother to Lady Violet
Malet. He was richer than his father, who was the
previous holder of the title. The present Marquis
had married the only child and heiress of a
wealthy manufacturer. The Marchioness was highly
educated and accomplished ; and, as we have seen
from Lady Stonehenge's rather spiteful allusion to
her in her letter to Lady Mildred Northallerton, had
been duly hall-marked by presentation at Court.
Lady Stonehenge and others of her contemporaries
were in fact jealous of her popularity and cleverness,
as well as of her money. She, however, carried off a
great prize in the matrimonial market in securing a
worthy nobleman, the possessor of an ancient title,
which only required wealth to support its dignity.
The English nobility has surpassed all the
corresponding classes in other countries by their
marvellous power of assimilation. They were never
a noblesse apart from the rest of the community ;
the eldest son and heir-apparent is a commoner until
he succeeds to the title, and often sits in the House
of Commons. Though he sometimes takes by
courtesy one of his father's minor titles, he is still
one of the people, and in touch with them. Marriage
with the rising commercial families infuses new blood
ALL FRIENDS ROUND THE WREKIN. l6p
and-new ideas into the nobility ; and marriage latterly
with Colonial and American girls has done far more
good in bringing Greater Britain and Greater Ireland
into friendly relations with the old country than any
amount of treaties and trade regulations.
The Marquis and Marchioness of Wrekin had, in
addition to Lord Church Stretton, several sons and
daughters ; and the young Ladies Manning helped
their mother in doing the honours of Wrekin Castle,
the seat of the family.
The castle was a venerable pile, with formerly a
moat around it, which had been long since filled up.
It stood on high ground, and the fields and parks
lying below it were almost surrounded by a river,
and its demesne contained oaks of great antiquity.
The present Marquis had revived the traditional
hospitalities of the place, and especially the annual
festival of the Harvest Home in September, when
the famous, time-honoured toast of " All Friends
round the Wrekin," was proposed by the Marquis, or
the heir to the title for him. This toast was given in
the large banqueting-hall in which many sovereigns
had been entertained. It was the popular toast of
Shropshire — the Wrekin Hill being central, and
standing conspicuously by itself in that lovely
county.
Lady Stonehenge and her companion got invita-
tions for the September festivities. Lady Mildred
Northallerton had also been invited ; but, greatly to
her regret, she could not go, owing to an attack of
gout, and had instead to drive to the Granby Hotel at
Harrogate, and go through a course of the all-healing
I/O AN IRISH UTOPIA.
waters of that pleasant health resort. Secretly, Lady
Stonehenge was glad of her absence. As an old
friend, Lady Mildred took the liberty of telling
Gertrude's kind-hearted patroness her mind. As she
said, she was always frank, and being frank with
Lady Mildred meant saying disagreeable things,
what she called " home truths."
Gertrude had profited by her many vicissitudes of
fortune, and was not over-elated by her triumphs or
the great compliment paid to her in being invited to
Wrekin as a guest, and not merely as a dependent
of Lady Stonehenge. In fact, she doubted if it were
prudent for her to go, Lord Church Stretton's atten-
tions to her being embarrassing ; and as he was not
a flirt or lady-killer, they could have only one mean-
ing, which was apparently, judging from her invita-
tion, acquiesced in by his parents. She respected
him ; she felt, however, she did not and never
could love him ; she knew it could not be to his
advantage to marry her ; and though his people
might not like to oppose his choice, Gertrude con-
sidered they could not but think he might do better,
socially and financially.
It may appear attributing to Gertrude Banks a
feeling for others beyond human nature, in stating
she resolved in her own mind to refuse him, though
she knew him to be a desirable match, because she
would not inflict on a man who loved her a wife
who could not return his love, and was not his equal
in birth or fortune. There are no doubt too many
young women who only think of their own little
lives, and do not spare a thought for others, even
ALL FRIENDS ROUND THE WREKIN. 171
those who are devoted to them ; but, thank God,
such are in a decided minority ; women are far less
selfish than men ; and more women are ready to
sacrifice themselves for men than men are to give
up even their small whims and pleasures for women.
The great Wizard of the North, who knew human
nature well, wrote the beautiful, well-known lines : —
" O woman ! in our hours of ease,
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please,
And variable as the shade
By the light quivering aspen made ;
When pain and anguish wring the brow,
A ministering angel thou ! "
He also sketched in homely prose the character of
Jeanie Deans, who told the Duke of Argyle she
could not marry the man whom she loved, and who
loved her, simply saying : " I maun think for him
as weel as for mysell. He is a clergyman, sir ; and
it would not beseem him to marry the like of me,
wi' this disgrace on my kindred."
Now Gertrude Banks had not the temptation of
giving up the man she loved, though we hope she
would have been equal to that sacrifice. The revela-
tion she got on Captain Banks's death-bed was a
terrible shock. She discovered that she was not his
daughter, but a nameless, penniless wanderer — her
very beauty and her attractions a trouble to her.
She never had the courage to open the bundle of
papers the maundering, muddle-headed old drunkard
gave her ; a hasty glance showed her they consisted
principally of old letters, on old-fashioned paper, and
written in unfamiliar handwriting. Pure as she was,
172 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
she had seen enough of the world to know that the
probability was that she had no right to claim an
honest descent from any parents ; and she shrank
from rendering certain what she feared. She felt now
that she had lost the sustaining help of the conscious
pride of believing she came of a good lineage. She
knew that she was now repeating the life she had led
with Miss Banks, her fancied aunt, a life of luxury
and adulation, with the prospect of at any time being
thrown on the world with nothing but her musical
talents to depend on. Lady Stonehenge was always
holding up before her the dazzling prospects of a
brilliant match. She shrank from this ; she did not
admit to herself in her most secret heart-commun-
ings that she had ever loved Lord Kingscastle, and
she certainly did not know it. She knew, however,
there was a romance connected with her thoroughly
unconventional introduction to him, and with his
chivalrous conduct towards her, forming a pleasing
contrast to the commonplace acquaintances of
Lady Stonehenge's drawing-room. She knew Lord
Church Stretton admired her, and was a very pro-
bable suitor ; still nothing would induce her to marry
him. It might be enough that she did not and could
not ever love him ; but there was more than that to
render a marriage with him impossible. Gertrude
was romantic. How could anyone have played
Imogen in Cymbeline, and Hermione in The Winter's
Tale, as she had done, without being so? Young as
she then was, she had been selected for these parts.
The study of the masterpieces of the stage, and the
noble thoughts running through them, had elevated
ALL FRIENDS ROUND THE WREKIN. 173
a naturally pure, unselfish character, and taught her a
feeling for others and a higher sense of self-respect
than are brought out in ordinary life. She could not
endure the idea of allowing Lord Church Stretton to
injure himself by marrying her. She further knew
well from the bitter experiences she had of the world
that, try how she might to please his every whim, he
would become disillusioned, and awake to the terrible
consciousness he had thrown himself away. Her
feelings for Lord Kingscastle were quite different.
She did not know that he loved her. The thought
never crossed her mind that there was a possibility
of her becoming his wife. She considered that it was
highly improbable that they would ever meet again,
and still she had unconsciously a more tender feeling,
a warmer corner in her heart, for him than for any-
one else. She cherished as one of her most precious
little possessions — and she had, poor thing, very
few — a rose which he gave her for her dress at her
concert in Dublin : it was but a withered flower; still,
it had been his gift. He was her knight-errant, and
had suffered in her cause. Gertrude had, in her last
letter from the manager of the theatrical company,
too clearly seen the light in which her friendship
with Lord Kingscastle was regarded by the world.
The letter was intended to be very straight and
matter-of-fact, like many so-called business letters ;
it was very brutal and very untrue, and it wounded
her sensitive feelings sorely, and increased the
intensity of her admiration for the knight who had
suffered on behalf of her, the defenceless maiden.
To Lady Stonehenge's gratification, and to
174 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
Gertrude's annoyance, they were met at the railway
station by Lord Church Stretton himself, driving a
wagonette. There were a couple of other visitors
in the train, which, to her relief, prevented Lord
Church Stretton's conduct appearing too remarkable,
but his admiration for her was not concealed.
Lady Stonehenge was one of those determined,
thorough Englishwomen who do nothing by halves.
She insisted, out of her own pocket, and despite
Gertrude's protests, in dressing the young girl as a
person of rank. Lady Stonehenge rightly perceived
that the better dressed her protegee was, the more
distinguished she looked ; and it never occurred to
any of the other visitors or the retainers that she would
not be in every way a suitable match for the heir to
an ancient Marquisate.
Lady Stonehenge had announced, when Gertrude
first came to her, what they both believed, that
she was a niece of Miss Banks and daughter of
the well-born, if ne'er-do-weel, Captain Banks, still
remembered by old people as a dashing cavalry
officer.
House parties of half a century ago were not
worked on the same lines as at present. People did
not live then with their ears to a telephone wire
when they were not scribbling a telegram; motor-
cars did not then run down innumerable old women,
children, and dogs, and cover all who escape with
their lives with mud or dust.
Wrekin Castle was ten miles then from a railway
station, and was old-fashioned even for fifty years
ago. Lady Stonehenge and Gertrude arrived to a
ALL FRIENDS ROUND THE WREKTN. 175
very substantial dinner, at what would now be
considered a ridiculously early hour. The gentlemen
sat longer over the walnuts and the wine. No one
eats walnuts now — they do not suit the modern teeth
or digestion ; and people drink less wine — that is
after dinner. Lord Church Stretton soon joined the
ladies, and Gertrude thrilled her listeners by her
wondrous voice. Besides less common songs, she
sang " The Bridge of Fancies " (who ever hears it
now ?) and " Kathleen Mavourneen." Though an
English girl, she had got special lessons from an
Irish teacher in the modulation and intonation
required for an Irish song ; and to an English
audience with a not too critical ear for Irish cadence,
she seemed to have a perfectly Irish accent. She
was, in appearance at all events, of the thoroughly
English type. We Irish are not so narrow-minded
as to think that all the perfections of the human
race are confined to this " tight little island of ours,"
to the exclusion of the rest of the world, more
especially of our pushing, prosperous English cousins.
Gertrude was a fine, tall, healthy, good-humoured girl,
with deep blue eyes and the wondrous Saxon yellow
hair without a suspicion of red in it. She had a wealth
of hair — more almost than she could manage. She
had also the strong, sensible look many English girls,
even iri their gayest moments, never lose. She was
dressed simply, though richly, and was by far the
most attractive, aristocratic-looking girl at the Castle,
besides being the best educated, and, above all, the
best singer ; and so thought the Marquis of Wrekin,
who evidently was passionately devoted to music.
176 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
Lord Church Stretton himself left the entertaining of
Gertrude to his father. The Marquis was a courtly
nobleman of the old school ; who had fought under
Wellington, when a very young Guardsman. He
conversed with Gertrude on general topics ; to her
surprise and that of others, he paid her more attention
than was usually expected from the head of the house
to so young a girl, and Gertrude found him gazing
intently at her with an inquiring look when he thought
her attention was diverted elsewhere. He appeared
once or twice about to say something which was on
his mind, but thought better of it ; he pressed her to
sing more of her old-time songs, which recalled to
him pleasant memories, and he stopped all conversa-
tion when she was either playing or singing.
The great harvest festival took place the next day.
All the people from the highest to the lowest were
asked, and there were no refusals, except from
people who could not possibly come. The day was
gloriously fine. The entertainment was timed so as
to allow two good hours' daylight for it. The tables
were laid in the large old oak-panelled banqueting-
hall, with overflow tables on the greensward for the
younger folk. The arrangements were all strictly in
accordance with ancient custom — the Marquis presi-
ding indoors,and Lord Church Stretton outside. Lady
Stonehenge was in the house. Gertrude was sepa-
rated from her and put at a table in a large tent with
Lord Church Stretton and the younger people. He did
not then pay her any conspicuous attention, and she
was taken care of by a young scion of a leading family
of the neighbourhood. Dancing engagement cards
ALL FRIENDS ROUND THE WREK1N. 177
were distributed during the feast ; the gentleman
who sat next her got first place. Lord Church
Stretton secured an early and a late number, and
her list was soon filled up. The polka was at this
period just coming into fashion, and was the favourite
item on the programme for the evening. Gertrude
was passionately fond of dancing, and entered into
the spirit of the ball. Lord Church Stretton claimed
his first dance, and after it was over brought his
partner to have some light refreshment in one of the
large reception-rooms of the old Castle. He tried to
lead Gertrude on to the subject which was upper-
most in his mind, but she adroitly avoided it ; at
length he said quite abruptly : " Miss Banks, I am
going to leave the army and settle in the country;
will you share my lot with me?"
The proposal was certainly matter-of-fact enough;
the poor fellow had to make an opportunity, and did
it awkwardly ; he then added : " You would make
me very happy. I would try to make you happy."
The girl replied quietly : " Lord Church Stretton, I
cannot marry you. I feel deeply the compliment
you have paid me, but it is impossible."
"Why?" said the young man eagerly; "I love
you ; cannot you love me only just a little ? and
my devotion to you will, by degrees, cause you to
love me more."
"It cannot be, my Lord ; do not press the question
further ; it distresses me to have to answer you."
"Do you love another then?" he asked rather
hotly.
" No," said poor Gertrude, quite truthfully as she
N
178 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
thought ; " still, I can never marry you. You do
not know my history ; ask me no more ; let us
return to the ball-room."
Lord Church Stretton led her back, and did not
claim his second dance. She was glad to see he
bore up manfully, and danced with all grades, as the
heir was bound, by ancient custom, to do, at these
annual festivals.
The ball was followed by various picnics and
social gatherings ; but Lord Church Stretton, though
he treated Gertrude with kindly courtesy, did not
again advance his suit.
One morning the old Marquis found Gertrude in
the writing-room, and, looking at her attentively, as
she had frequently remarked him doing, asked her
to accompany him to the picture-gallery. Placing her
before a lovely Reynolds portrait, he told her, " That
was my mother, and it is a striking likeness. She
was just your age, I imagine, when it was taken, and,
allowing for difference of dress, might it not stand
for your portrait? There must be some family
connexion."
Gertrude replied with emotion : " My Lord, there
can be none ; it is only a strange accident."
" I am not so sure of that," he said ; " I think
the Bankses are connected with us, and family
resemblances are sometimes curious ; they turn up
after long intervals."
" My Lord, it is right to tell you that my name
is not Banks. I only learned this quite lately from
Captain Banks, whose daughter I thought I was ; I
am no fitting guest for your house. I have been
ALL FRIENDS ROUND THE WREKIN. 179
treated with more than kindness and consideration,
and the only return I can make you is to leave and
regret I ever came. I am a nameless girl, adopted
and educated by Miss Banks out of pity. It was
hard, though, to bring me up to believe I was of a
social standing I have no claim to."
" Who, in the name of Heaven, then, are you ?
You remind me now of a favourite sister ; your
pleading voice and your singing recall old times.
You have her voice; you have my mother's face
and figure."
" All mere accident," was the sad answer. " My
Lord, I entreat you to spare me ; if I have deceived
you, it was, I assure you, unintentionally, and now
you know all."
" My child," said the kind old English nobleman,
who when he is good is very good, " I am certain
you have as pure blood in your veins as anyone in
this house. Was it because you did not know who
your parents were that you refused my son ?"
Gertrude looked at him with her honest eyes
brimming with tears.
" That was sufficient, my Lord, in itself; but I did
not love your son well enough to marry him."
" I will question you no more, dear, on that point.
Surely, however, you will let an old man be a friend
to you if he can ; and, unless I am prying into
something with which I should have no concern,
may I ask you have you any papers which relate to
your family ? "
"Yes, my Lord, I have, but not here," she said.
" Well then, as soon as we return to London bring
180 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
them to me. Will you not trust me ? The pleading
look in your face again and again reminds me of
one who always appealed to me as an elder brother
for protection. Her voice from the grave seems to
entreat me now to help you. It is strange, passing
strange ; it is more than an accident, though you
account for it as such. Mind, I will be hurt if you
leave; remain for your full visit. I like you for your
own sake, and also for the memory of one who was
treated harshly."
" My Lord," said Gertrude, weeping silently, " I do
not refuse your help so generously offered ; I fear,
however, there is little to be discovered."
" We shall see, we shall see," said the old man,
affecting a gaiety he did not feel ; " be not so sure of
that."
CHAPTER XXIII.
"HOW CHARMING IS DIVINE PHILOSOPHY!"
LORD KINGSCASTLE had changed, if not actually in
his theological doctrines, certainly greatly in his
sermons and pastoral ministrations, since he had to
leave Dublin owing to his inopportune sermon on
" Apostolic Succession." He was completely mis-
understood by his Dublin Puritan congregation.
They thought he was promulgating Papistical doc-
trines. On the contrary, he was endeavouring to
prove that the Protestant Episcopal Church of Ire-
land had unbroken episcopal succession down from
the Apostles through St. Patrick, and that St. Patrick
himself was a Protestant Catholic, and not a Roman
Catholic. The Irish are at the same time the most
religious and the most litigious nation in the world.
Every infant is labelled at birth as of some particular
creed; and, however neglected, untaught, unwashed,
and unkempt a child may be, woe betide anyone of
a different faith who meddles with the little mite's
religion. It is the same way with the bogs. A bog
may happen to be a " no man's land," until some
benevolent individual or public body wishes to
utilize it for the general good; then the whole
country is up in arms to defend to the death what
previously appeared to be " a derelict."
1 82 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
When Stephen moved to a mining parish in
England, on his uncle Lord Dartmoor's estate, he,
being not only a zealous churchman, but a shrewd
young man open to convictions, saw his work was to
make his flock Christians and God-fearing people,
without troubling them with the controversies of the
various parties. To his horror he found in Christian
England, with its largely endowed, established
Christian Church, multitudes of men and women
and children who had never heard the most ele-
mentary truths of the Christian faith. He now
commenced preaching uncontroversial sermons on
the admitted doctrines of all professing Christians.
There have at all times been ministers of Christ's
Gospel in Ireland who have had the courage to do
the same: still, they are not appreciated; they
are suspected of being lukewarm trimmers or
opportunists.
His sermons to the ignorant mining people, who,
at that period, burrowed under ground, and only
occasionally came to the surface, were like the
famous sermon by a preaching missioner of the
Roman Catholic Church, with which a wise old
countrywoman taunted her Protestant mistress, who
was favouring controversialists in their district.
" Ma'am," said she, " the sermon I heard to-day
from Father Brady is not like the one you wish
me to hear, which abuses my religion and praises
yours. Father Brady gave us a grand discourse, and
there was not one word of religion in it from the
beginning to the end."
Her mistress laughed at her, but the woman-
"HOW CHARMING IS DIVINE PHILOSOPHY!" 183
used " religion" in the old correct sense of the word,
as meaning ceremonies and formularies as distin-
guished from fundamental and important doctrines,
about which comparatively unimportant questions
— unimportant as compared to the simple essential
truths of Christianity — a fierce fight was then raging
over Ireland. Father Brady had simply preached
broad Christianity and charity as they are to be
found in Christ's Sermon on the Mount and St. John's
Gospel, without in the slightest degree compromising
or minimizing the distinctive doctrines, ceremonies,
or formularies of his own Church.
Lord Kingscastle met with the most encouraging
success. At first he preached in the large old parish
church ; and when it proved too small to contain the
congregation, he, without exciting any hostility, held
open-air meetings, and declared the Gospel boldly,
like St. Paul at Rome, " preaching the Kingdom of
God, and teaching those things which concern the
Lord Jesus Christ, with all confidence, no man for-
bidding him." He simply had, as it were, unearthed
persons who had been forgotten and utterly neglected.
This absorbing occupation improved his mind; the
great importance of his mission raised him above
narrow disputes, and he became engrossed in his
sacred labours.
The Wrekin party were invited to a county ball
in a not very distant county town, which was also a
cathedral city; and a large contingent of them
went, including Gertrude, and remained a couple
of days in the place, and visited the magnificent
cathedral on Sunday. They attended the service
184 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
chiefly to hear the beautiful music, without knowing
or caring who was the preacher ; and Gertrude could
scarcely conceal her feelings and excitement when
Lord Kingscastle ascended the pulpit to fulfil an
engagement in the nature of a command from his
Bishop.
The Irish have a natural gift of public speaking,
whether in the pulpit, at the bar, or in the senate.
Lord Kingscastle was an Irish orator. He had that
indescribable face and manner which can be and
often are depicted on canvas, but cannot be explained
in words, and which were apparent before he opened
his lips. He was one of the Irish type which was
evolved out of so many mixed races, and amidst so
many opposing religious and political forces. Once
in the pulpit, his speech bewrayed him. He had
a distinct trace of the Irish accent, which had not
been altogether removed by his Eton training. The
effect of really eloquent sermons is often lost in vast
Gothic cathedrals by the inability of the preacher
to make himself heard. Lord Kingscastle had the
physical advantage of a sonorous, far-reaching voice,
which, without any straining or effort on his part,
filled the most distant parts of the spacious building.
He took for his text two passages of Scripture,
which, as it were, supplemented each other — the
one from Hebrews : " Here have we no continuing
city, but we seek one to come " ; and the other from
St. John's Gospel, consisting of the widely extending
words, " In my Father's house are many mansions."
His discourse was truly " catholic " in the best sense
of that remarkable word. He dwelt forcibly and
"HOW CHARMING IS DIVINE PHILOSOPHY!" 185
lovingly on the many points on which all Christians
agree ; he showed that it was not only expedient but
obligatory on all believers in Christ to be united, as
far as possible, amongst themselves ; and he spoke
with horror of the dreadful crimes which had been
committed under the impulses of sectarian bitterness.
His sermon might be well described as an illustration
of the truth of those noble words :
" How charming is divine Philosophy !
Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose ;
But musical as is Apollo's lute,
And a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets,
Where no crude surfeit reigns."
Gertrude was enthralled by his eloquence, and
his earnest, startling utterances were completely in
accord with her own thoughts and feelings. The
lonely girl had of late become keenly sensitive to
her uncertain position. She was surrounded by
members of the old English aristocracy, and she
knew that she "was not of them." She now fancied
that Stephen had recognized her and was preaching
at her, and she hid her face to conceal her confusion.
When the service was over, she felt sure he would at
once seek her out, and it must be admitted — the girl
was human — she lingered as long as she could in the
cathedral and its precincts, expecting him. She felt
bitterly disappointed when he did not come to her,
as he undoubtedly would have done had he perceived
her amongst that vast concourse of people. He
certainly had not seen her, and this became
pleasingly evident to Gertrude by the delighted
!86 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
surprise he showed when he did meet her, later in
the day, in the cathedral close, at the Dean's
residence. Notwithstanding that she was prepared
to meet him, she was nervous at their first interview.
She had been overwrought by the necessity of having
to give the pain and mortification of a refusal to
Lord Church Stretton, whom she respected and liked,
and she was more overcome by the generosity of the
Marquis, in whom his son had evidently confided.
Lord Kingscastle asked Gertrude if she had been ill,
and reproached her for not letting him know how
near she had been to his residence, that he might
have gone to see her.
Stephen accepted an invitation to visit Wrekin
Castle, and was promptly secured by the vicar of
the parish to preach for him.
Lady Stonehenge was not one of the party to the
cathedral city ; still, she heard of Lord Kingscastle
and the friendship between him and her protegee ;
and she drew correct conclusions from a conversation
she had with Gertrude as to her feelings for him, and
she began to understand her aloofness from other
desirable young candidates for her hand.
Lady Stonehenge early sought an opportunity of
making Stephen's acquaintance when he came to the
castle, and watched him and Gertrude together.
She observed he sought Gertrude, and that she
avoided him. He remarked to Lady Stonehenge
that the girl seemed changed.
" She has been troubled, Lord Kingscastle, with
what many other young women lack — too many
suitors," the astute old lady answered.
"HOW CHARMING IS DIVINE PHILOSOPHY!" 187
" I remark," said he, "Lord Church Stretton admires
her; and, some way, I think, she does not favour
him."
" She does not favour anyone," she replied, " as
far as I can see. Perhaps she lost her heart in
Ireland."
The young man coloured, and replied gravely :
" How that was I cannot say. I know she made fast
friends there."
He asked Gertrude to take a walk in the grounds
with him, and said : " Miss Banks, I fear something
is troubling you, and you seem as if you wanted to
avoid me. Can I help you in any way ? You must
know you have only to ask me."
" I have now many kind friends," she replied, " and
you were the first of them. I would not be alive
now except for you. My trouble consists in trying
to think how I am to earn a living. I cannot live
as I do any longer."
"Why? "he asked.
" I am in a false position," she answered tremu-
lously, trying to be calm, " a far worse one than
when I saw you last. I have discovered I was wrong
in thinking Captain Banks was my father. I do not
know my own name, and I appear as a deception."
" Lady Stonehenge tells me," he said, " you have
had many suitors, and that she thinks you left your
heart in Ireland."
" And may I ask, Lord Kingscastle, is it kind of
two whom I considered amongst my best friends to
be criticizing me in that way ? Can you tell me the
name of that rose ? " — pointing to a flower.
1 88 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
" I cannot, Miss Banks; but I know that you
completely misjudge Lady Stonehenge and myself
if you think either of us in word or deed would hurt
you. I thought you once might have had a warmer
feeling for me than mere friendship. It wounds me
greatly ; you seem to have taken a dislike to me and
to avoid me."
Gertrude became greatly agitated, and there was a
far-away look in her eyes, as if she were gazing into
an unseen world.
"Why do you say nothing, Gertrude?" he said ;
" can you give me no hope ? I love you ; I think I
loved you from the first time I saw you. I never
loved any woman but you. Do you love me ? "
After a long pause, poor Gertrude said in a clear,
incisive voice : " No, Lord Kingscastle, I do not
love you. I respect you ; I am deeply grateful to
you. I would do anything in my power to serve
you ; but I cannot marry you."
" I thought you loved me just a little once," he
said sorrowfully, " and I hoped when we met a few
days ago I might win you. I would have tried my
chance in Dublin, but I was then only a student,
and could not support a wife ; now I can."
" Please," said Gertrude, " let us now drop the
subject. What you wish, Lord Kingscastle, is quite
out of the question."
" One word more, dear Miss Banks ; forgive me ;
perhaps I ought not to ask ; still, pardon me in this
one question : have I a rival ?"
" You ought not to have asked," replied Gertrude,
smiling sadly, " but I will answer you : there is no
other."
"HOW CHARMING IS DIVINE PHILOSOPHY!" 189
She turned, ran away into the house, flew up to
her room, threw herself on her bed, and sobbed as if
her heart would break.
Lady Stonehenge had watched the pair from a
corridor, had seen Gertrude running into the house,
and had then heard her sobbing in her room, which
was next her own. Leaving her undisturbed for a
while, the old woman, who loved the motherless girl
dearly, went and tapped at her door, and, being told
to come in, thoughtfully waited to let her compose
herself, and then entered. She found Gertrude
evidently trying to remove the traces of tears from
her face.
" Gertrude," said Lady Stonehenge, " I do not like
a girl who is too ready to tell every word which is
said to her ; still, one can be too silent, too reserved.
I feel like a mother to you. I do not want to pry
into your secrets ; still, perhaps, I might help you.
I fear you may take some step you will afterwards
regret."
Seeing a surprised, hurt look on Gertrude's face,
she added hastily : " Not, my dear, anything wrong,
nothing of the kind, but, through a feeling of not
wanting to injure another, you may make yourself
and Lord Kingscastle both miserable ; it may not
have been wise of you to have refused him."
" How do you know, Lady Stonehenge, how can
you possibly know, I did ?"
" It is very plain, my dear girl, what has
happened, and I know why you did so ; simply
you thought you would drag him down if you
married him. And you told him a fib, you naughty
child : you said you did not love him."
AN IRISH UTOPIA.
Poor unhappy Gertrude threw herself into her
kind friend's arms and wept afresh ; still in a less
violent manner than before.
The old lady let her have her cry quietly out,
and then they had a long chat.
Lady Stonehenge was not surprised, when Lord
Kingscastle seized the opportunity of Gertrude going
to an archery practice to have his say with her.
" She says," said the young man, sighing deeply,
" she does not love me. I have got the same answer
as she gave Church Stretton."
Lord Kingscastle added many more words, and
Lady Stonehenge listened to him quietly ; and he
ended by asking her : " What am I to do ? "
" Wait, Lord Kingscastle ; it will all come right.
Your case is quite different from Church Stretton's.
She does not love him ; she loves you."
Now, the kind diplomatist was loyal to her young
companion ; she did not betray her confidences with
her, nor in truth had Gertrude told her that she
loved Lord Kingscastle.
" How do you know?" said he.
Lady Stonehenge laughed.
" Why, I have been a long time in the world. I
had four daughters who married, and by this time I
know something of a young girl. Why, when she
looks at you, you silly boy, she has the light of love
in her eyes. I watched her with you and poor
Church Stretton ; but now do not go and spoil all.
The girl is as proud as Lucifer. The good Marquis
told me he is determined to investigate her case
when we return to town. Goodness knows what
may turn up."
"HOW CHARMING IS DIVINE PHILOSOPHY!" 191
" I do not care whose daughter she is ; I will marry
her for herself."
" Quite right," said the old lady, " and I love you
myself for saying so, though you need not look at
me ; I have no light of love for you in my old eyes.
Still, the girl is proud, the right kind of pride when
not carried too far ; and it would kill her if she
thought your old uncle, the Bishop, considered you
had thrown yourself away. You must wait ; be
kindly and respectful with her ; do not ask her again,
however, until I give you leave " ; and she shook her
finger playfully at him.
No people could have behaved better to Gertrude
than the Marchioness of Wrekin and young Lady
Violet Manning, called by her father after his
favourite sister, our former friend, Lady Violet Malet.
The Marchioness loved her only son, and she and her
husband saw clearly that he was deeply attached to
Lady Stonehenge's companion, and they did not
oppose him in it. His father and he had always been
friends, and more like brothers than father and son ;
and when the Marquis asked him if he had fallen
in love with Gertrude, he did not deny it. They
all thought then that the girl was the daughter of
Captain Banks, and that, though without fortune,
she was of an aristocratic family, connected with
the peerage, and he put no obstacle in the way.
When Gertrude herself told him the true story,
he showed himself worthy of his noble descent,
and, come what might of it, he resolved to assist the
girl in tracing her parentage, the more so as she so
strangely reminded him of his mother and pet sister.
192 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
The party broke up shortly afterwards. Lord
Kingscastle tried to forget his disappointment in his
truly missionary work amongst the English heathen,
whose condition plainly showed that they had not
" heard whether there be any Holy Ghost." Lady
Stonehenge and Gertrude returned to Grosvenor
Square; and the girl sang at a series of concerts,
for which she was well paid. She appeared in the
bills always as " Miss Frederica Browning," she and
Lady Stonehenge agreeing it was better not to use
professionally her name "Banks"; in fact, it was
with great difficulty Lady Stonehenge induced her
to keep, in private life, the name of Banks. Gertrude
argued it was a deception, and had already misled
several people, such as the Wrekins ; but Lady
Stonehenge showed her she was entitled to the
name, because it was given to her by Miss Banks,
who had adopted her, and that she must not give
it up until she ascertained her true name.
" That will never be, dear, kind Lady Stonehenge."
" I do not know, my young friend ; have patience."
Gertrude was energetic, and occupied herself in
many ways. She had met so many trials in life that
she had lost the sanguineness of youth; but her
natural love for others and personal unselfishness got
her over many an anxious hour. Lady Stonehenge
was astonished at her forethought, resourcefulness, and
adaptability. Notwithstanding all her large-hearted
charity, neither her daughters nor her former young
friends had found the old peeress very easy to get on
with. Gertrude, schooled in managing an imperious,
exacting old lady like Miss Banks, and then cast
"HOW CHARMING IS DIVINE PHILOSOPHY!" 193
adrift on the sea of life in her own frail bark, found
Lady Stonehenge's house a very harbour of refuge.
She willingly occupied herself from morning to
night zealously planning for Lady Stonehenge, and
striving to anticipate all her whims and wishes.
Her observant patroness saw all this ; her heart
went out to the motherless girl ; she mothered her
as if she were a fifth daughter ; and, taking her
to her heart, was all the happier'for it.
0
CHAPTER XXIV.
TOTAL ABSTINENCE FROM ALCOHOL.
IT is a very long time since we heard anything of
poor Ambrose Malet, who, when advanced in middle
life, had to exchange the sheep-walks of his beloved
Wicklow Mountains for the Australian bush. Malet
was like many another Irishman, and many a
Britisher too : " when he had nothing to do, he did
it." This may be an Irish bull, still it corresponds
to the Italian dolce far niente. An Irishman has
more fun and versatility in him than his Saxon
brother ; and he can therefore " do nothing " more
easily and with less annoyance to his neighbour
than the more practical, business-like Englishman.
Malet became a shepherd in New South Wales,
where he was compelled to work hard for his living,
and " did it." He speedily rose to be a confidential
manager and then a partner. He had in Ireland
picked up a great deal of veterinary knowledge, and
understood all the infantile diseases that lambs are
heir to. He had an infallible remedy for curing scab.
He was an admirable shearer himself, and knew how
to instruct others. He was liked by the natives ; he
shot a bushranger dead ; and he altogether was a
success in the colony, and one of the most valuable
men in it. He never was a drunkard, and became
practically a total abstainer up country, where he had
TOTAL ABSTINENCE FROM ALCOHOL. 195
the good sense to see that it was necessary for him
to show a good example. When he went to Sydney,
however, he unbent ; he was a popular companion
with a good story and an atmosphere of geniality
about him ; and his appearance in the Sydney Club
which he joined was the signal for " shouting " for
drinks all round in welcome to this " poor exile of
Erin." The end of this indulgence was that Malet
found himself in hospital, knocked up by too many
treats. He was attended by a pretty young nurse who
spoke to him in the Wicklow accent. This touched
Malet's naturally soft heart, and he became friends
with her ; she turned out to be Kitty Simpson, the
daughter of his old friend, Mark Simpson, Curate of
Kingscastle, and of Mrs. Simpson, who as a widow
had been housekeeper to the Earl of Clara.
Mrs. Simpson, who kept a boarding-house in
Sydney, came to see him.
Malet recovered, and showed a determination
of character which many who saw him only in
his pleasure moments did not credit him with. He
had already been a total abstainer in the country ;
he now also became one in town.
Mrs. Simpson — a thoroughly good woman, a real
lady, though a poor one, and always industrious —
strengthened him in his good resolutions, and he
lodged with her during his convalescence. He
was thriving when he became ill ; he now forged
ahead, and, after a while, brought off a couple of
the young Simpsons, taught them shepherding, and
promoted them to be managers, and gave them,
as he had previously got himself, shares in his
196 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
business. He also took to buying building lots in
Sydney, and others of the then rising towns.
Everything he touched seemed to prosper. His
chance acquaintance with the Simpsons was an
advantage to both. Mrs. Simpson still kept on
her boarding-house, and Malet lived there when
in town. While sitting in the smoking-room of
his Club one hot, dusty day in Sydney, Malet
was in an indolent manner reading the latest
copy of The Times — in those days a very old
copy indeed. An advertisement in the Agony
Column accidentally caught his eye. His attention
was at once arrested, and his face completely
changed from lazy indifference to the keenest
excitement.
Malet was greatly altered in appearance, but
decidedly for the better. He had lost the devil-
may-care look he formerly had, and had got instead
the air of a successful man of business. The
management of a large concern had given a
thoughtful, practical look to his face. He was now
a resolute, resourceful man, getting on in the
world ; but his face would light up as of old, and he
still had the merry twinkle in his eye and a cheery
word for everyone.
The advertisement which engrossed his attention
ran as follows : " Any person giving information
which will lead to the discovery of a daughter, now
aged about twenty- five years, of Ambrose Malet
and Lady Violet Malet, his wife, will be liberally
rewarded. Apply to X.Y.Z., Times Office."
Malet walked restlessly up and down the room,
TOTAL ABSTINENCE FROM ALCOHOL. 197
visibly agitated, and altogether unconscious of the
surprised looks of the bystanders.
" Why, what is the matter, Malet ? " said one of
them, who was a particular friend of his ; " is it good
news or bad news ? "
" Heaven only knows," said Malet. He then went
back to the paper, copied out the short advertise-
ment, and, quickly putting on his hat, left the
room.
" I hope it is good news," said the man who
addressed him. " There's not a better fellow in the
colony. He gave me a shove forward one time ; he
never touches a man that he does not benefit him.
Well as I know him out here, I know nothing of his
previous life. I think he has a history, and I fear it
was a sad one. I heard he married a titled lady, and
that she and their only child died. I did not hear
this from him."
" Most of us have a ghost in the closet," said
another, laughing. " It may be merely that wool is
up, and Malet wants a quick sale. No one ever
caught the market better than he does ; still, he is
perfectly straight, and his word is as good as his
bond. He can go home when he pleases ; he has
made his pile, and sent a good deal over already to
invest in England in sure things."
Malet hurried off to our old friend, Mrs. Simpson,
who lived near the Club. She opened the door for
him herself. She looked happy and thriving also.
On seeing him, she exclaimed : " What is it,
Amby?"
" I do not know, dear old friend," he said ; " the
198 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
clock has gone back a quarter of a century. Read
that!"
Mrs. Simpson took the slip of paper on which
Malet had copied the advertisement, and, glancing
at it, handed it back to him, quietly saying : " I saw
this already to-day."
" Then why, in the name of all that is sacred, did
you not show it to me?" he answered angrily,
almost fiercely.
" For the very good reason, Amby, that it came
enclosed in a letter from England by the post which
arrived after you left this morning. Now you must
just have a cup of tea, and compose yourself. The
news may be good news, but do not build too much
upon it."
"Can it be, Sally, that my child is alive, and that
I have not toiled all these years for nothing ; that I
have her still left to me, anyhow?" he cried breath-
lessly. " The news I got ages ago that she was dead
cannot be true."
Good Mrs. Simpson was frightened at the man's
appearance. Nothing frightens a woman more than
when a strong man gives way; and she insisted on
his taking the tea before she handed him the letter.
It was dated several months back from an obscure
street in London, and ran as follows : —
DEAR MRS. SIMPSON,
" I learned your address accidentally the other
day, "and God put it into my head to try and atone
for the terrible wrong I did with others nearly thirty
long years ago. I never could get it out of my head,
TOTAL ABSTINENCE FROM ALCOHOL. 199
thinking of it by day, and dreaming of it by night.
If I only knew where the poor father is, I would
write to him also, but I do not know. You must
remember me, if not by name, then as own maid to
Lady Henrietta Manning, poor Lady Violet's aunt.
Lady Henrietta came over to be with Lady Violet
in her confinement, and I went with her: I had
been a nursery governess in my young days, and
afterwards having had children of my own, was handy
about babies, and I took care of the motherless child
when her mother died. Lady Violet, with, as we
thought, her dying breath, though she lived for some
hours longer, besought me to tell her broken-hearted
husband, who was out at the time, to have the baby
christened Gertrude, after her friend the Countess's
little girl ; and I carried out her wish, and told
Mr. Malet, and the baby was called so. She begged
of me, as a mother myself, to mother the poor little
thing when she was gone ; and, God forgive me, I
lied to her, and did not, though at the time I
intended to do so. When Lady Henrietta and I
returned to England with the child, we went to
Lady Henrietta's house at Ludlow, and the child was
shown to everyone as poor Lady Violet's daughter.
Lord Arthur, who lived with Lady Henrietta, after a
few months came home, and Lady Henrietta called
me into the parlour, and asked me could I keep a
secret if I were well paid for it. Now, at the time, I
wanted to apprentice my son in the city, and was
badly off for money, and I asked her what the secret
was.
" ' Well,' says she, ' I have got a grand offer from a
200 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
rich lady to adopt Gertrude ; but Gertrude must
drop her name, and we must pretend she has died ;
and she must pass for Miss Banks's niece, the
daughter of a scapegrace brother of hers. Lord
Arthur and I are too poor to keep her and educate
her, and it is the best thing for her.'
"'And why,' I asked, Ms it necessary to pretend
she is dead ? '
" ' Because,' she answered, cross-like, ' Miss Banks
wants her to think she is really her niece and to cut
off all relations with her own people. Ask me no
more questions. Will you do it or not for £20 ? '
" I took the £20, trying to persuade myself it was
for the poor little thing's good. I knew Lord Arthur
and Lady Henrietta were as poor as church mice,
and I never had a day's happiness since ; but I did
think at the time it was for the baby's good. I knew
Lady Henrietta wrote to Mr. Malet, telling him that
the child was dead, for I posted the letter with a black
seal on it. The worst is to come. I found out, through
Lord Arthur's valet, that he got money which would
have gone to the baby if she were known to be still
alive. It may be a poor excuse for me to try to make
for my violation of my solemn promise to the dying
mother, that I heard the girl was well cared for, and
brought up and highly educated, and had everything
her heart could have wished for ; but that was no
doubt the case. Then Miss Banks died suddenly
without leaving Gertrude a sixpence, and the poor
thing had to join a low theatrical company which her
sham father was fiddler to. I went to the manager of
the company, and he told me two years ago Gertrude
TOTAL ABSTINENCE FROM ALCOHOL. 2OI
went to live with a young man in Dublin, when the
company was playing there, and he would have
nothing more to do with her; that it was a great
pity, as she was very handsome — a born actress, and
had a fine voice. He said he was obliged to dismiss
her father for drunkenness ; and he believed he died
in the poorhouse hospital. I saved a little money,
and I got a small legacy ; and as my children are
out in the world and doing for themselves, I made
up my mind to undo, as far as I could, the great
wrong I was party to against a helpless infant.
I have advertised for news of her repeatedly, but I
can learn nothing. I enclose you a cutting. Do
you, dear Mrs. Simpson, know anything of her or of
her real father, Ambrose Malet? I heard he had
gone to Australia. May God forgive me my sins !
" Your humble servant,
"MARY ANNE BROWN."
Poor Malet's eyes sparkled with joy until the
closing sentences of the letter, which told of his
long-lost daughter's sad fall and disappearance.
" I will go and try to find my child. She has
been more sinned against than sinning," he said,
endeavouring to be calm.
He consulted with his good friend. Mrs. Simpson
wrote to Mary Anne Brown, telling her Malet's
address, and that he was going to Europe.
He first thought of writing to the Marquis of
Wrekin, who he said was an honest, steady fellow
and fond of his sister Violet ; but he could not make
up his mind to do so.
2O2
AN IRISH UTOPIA.
Mrs. Simpson then told him she was thinking of a
trip to the old country herself, to see her children
there, and to take an unmarried daughter and two
grandchildren with her. She had been planning
the trip for some time, but now resolved to carry it
out, for the purpose of helping Malet, who seemed
quite knocked up with the news, and the strain
on him of the uncertainty which surrounded his
daughter's fate. Malet had put forward her sons,
and she was a good woman, and wanted now to
assist him, and watch over him. She dreaded he
might lose his reason ; and having her to soothe him
seemed a comfort to him.
Malet began to put his affairs in order, and trusted
much to the young Simpsons, who proved worthy
of his confidence ; and, after a couple of journeys
up country, he and the Simpson party sailed for
England.
CHAPTER XXV.
A DEATH-BED SCENE RECALLED.
AMBROSE MALET, Mrs. Simpson, and her daughter
and granddaughters arrived in London. They soon
found out Mary Ann Brown, but heard, to their
great disappointment, that she had been unable to
trace Gertrude Banks.
Then the anxious man went to Scotland Yard :
all sorts of differently worded advertisements were
inserted in various newspapers — all in vain.
One day he, who, as may be remembered, was very
musical, saw an announcement of a great concert for
a city hospital, with several names well known even
to him, though he had been for many years abroad,
and also the name of a young lady — Miss Frederica
Browning — described as a recent debutante, of whom
he had not previously heard. He got tickets for the
performance for his party. It commenced with
instrumental music and some songs, after which the
new star (Miss Browning) appeared, who sang with a
voice of wonderful flexibility — a naturally fine voice,
carefully trained. Malet sat entranced, and then it
gradually dawned on him he had seen the face and
heard the voice previously — long ago, he could not
remember where. After a time, fond as he was of
music and singing, he became heedless of both,
204 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
thinking, pondering, and wondering why this girl
reminded him of the past. His thoughts then, strange
to say, went back to his short, tragically short, married
life, which had become a dream to him, and his lovely
bride's fresh, young face came up before him.
When other singers succeeded Miss Browning,
Malet ceased listening. He forgot time and place ;
he was back again with the wife of his youth. He
saw her before him, heard her bird-like voice singing
sweetly about his house, full of health and joyousness.
He then fancied he saw her on her death-bed, and
heard her asking him to raise her in his arms and
kiss her, and bring their child to her that she might
see and kiss the helpless infant for the last time ; he
saw her in his vision fall back gasping for breath,
as she passed away to another world. Malet then
became nearly unconscious, and was falling from his
seat when Mrs. Simpson looked round with alarm
and spoke to him. He was recalled back as it were
by her voice to the present world, and with a great
effort composed himself.
Mrs. Simpson whispered, " Would you like to
leave ? "
As she was saying this, Miss Browning came on
again. Malet made no answer, and Mrs. Simpson
wonderingly saw he was now listening attentively,
apparently absorbed in her singing, and she pru-
dently did not worry him for an answer. Gradually,
however, she saw the abstracted look return to his
face, and he became deadly pale. With the help of
a gentleman sitting near them, Malet was assisted
to a room off the orchestra ; and he had scarcely
A DEATH-BED SCENE RECALLED. 2O5
reached it when he swooned and became wholly
unconscious.
They had brought him to the nearest room at hand.
He had slowly begun to revive, when suddenly Miss
Browning came in off the stage, having sung two
extra songs, carrying in each hand a magnificent
bouquet, her attendant following with more flowers,
with which the stage had been almost covered. Malet
had only partially come back to life ; he could not
recollect where he was ; when, as he thought, a vision
of the past came up before him — his blooming Violet,
lovely, radiant in her beauty, on her wedding-day.
He staggered forward, intending to clasp her in his
arms, when he was forcibly held back by angry
spectators, whose pity had turned to disgust,
thinking the unfortunate man had been drinking
too freely.
" He is drunk," said one of them ; " send for the
police."
Mrs. Simpson came forward, and explained.
" He is not drunk : he has been anxious of late ;
he has been looking for his long-lost daughter ;
possibly the poor fellow thinks he has found her."
Miss Browning, who was no other than our old
friend, Gertrude, was full of sympathy.
Malet looked helpless for a moment Then, when
he had somewhat recovered, he said in a trembling,
feeble voice : " I beg the young lady's pardon. I
was dreaming, or in a trance, and I thought I saw
my wife, who died many years ago."
Gertrude looked at him ; she had been deeply
moved by his pathetic look, and was anxious
206 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
to help him. She thought of the likeness to the
miniature in the locket.
" You need not apologize, sir," she said gently ;
" May I ask did I remind you of anyone?"
" You did, young lady ; you are the very image of
my wife. I lost her by death ; and I also lost my
daughter, who was stolen from me."
" Am I so very like your wife, dear sir ?" she said,
with a gentle, sympathetic voice which thrilled the
poor man, usually so strong, now so weak.
" Yes," he said, with difficulty mastering his
emotion, "just what she was when I first saw
her, and heard her sing."
The people stood astonished. Gertrude was
called for her last song. She begged Malet to stay
in her room until her return, and Mrs. Simpson
remained with him.
On Gertrude's return explanations took place
between Malet and her which went far to show she
was his missing daughter. Gertrude had her
mother's watch with her, which Malet at once
recognized as the one he had bought for his bride as
a wedding gift, though badly able to afford the price
of it.
Lady Stonehenge communicated with the Marquis
of Wrekin. The letters and papers handed by poor
old dying Captain Banks to Gertrude, the remarkable
likeness of Gertrude to her grandmother and mother,
the testimony of Mary Ann Brown, the miniature
and watch, more than established the identity of
Gertrude.
The money which tempted the fraud was all gone;
A DEATH-BED SCENE RECALLED. 207
but Malet fortunately had plenty for his child
and himself.
Lady Stonehenge wrote the following letter to
Lord Kingscastle : —
" DEAR LORD KINGSCASTLE,
" You will be glad to hear that Gertrude, by a mere
accident, while singing at a concert, was discovered
by her father, Mr. Ambrose Malet, owing to the
remarkable likeness she bears to her mother, who
was the sister of the Marquis of Wrekin. Her father
became extremely wealthy in Australia. You were
anxious to marry the girl when she was nameless
and penniless. If you have not developed Mark
Tapley's peculiarities, come and stay with me, and
preach in St. Paul's. The Bishop of London wants
a good man who is worth listening to and can be
heard.
" Yours ever sincerely,
" AUGUSTA STONEHENGE."
Lord Kingscastle accepted the invitation ; and
shortly afterwards Dr. Greene got the following
letter :—
" BELOVED PHYSICIAN,
" I write to tell you for what you kept your patient
alive. I have found my father. It came round in a
curious way. He happened to hear me singing at a
concert, and recognized me by my likeness to my
poor mother. I am the daughter of Ambrose Malet,
of Kingscastle, and Lady Violet Malet, who was
the sister of my chivalrous supporter, the Marquis
208 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
of Wrekin. All this, dear friend, you may have
heard from others ; but I want you to hear the
following bit of news absolutely from me before
anyone else tells you. I am engaged to be married
to Stephen. The foolish fellow wanted to marry
me when I had no name ; and, oh ! doctor, I had
to refuse him — a terrible struggle for me between
love and duty. I could not let him ruin himself.
Tell Mrs. Greene and Fanny. Fanny will be my
chief bridesmaid. It cannot be, however, for a long
time, as Lord Clara is very ill ; and my father says he
must have me a little while to himself before he parts
with me. My father has good means ; but, oh !
what kindness I have met with ! I never could have
believed there were so many good people in the
world if I had not been so helpless and lonely and
in need of loving care and assistance, and (call
me foolish if you like), what I value more than
anything else, I received genuine sympathy from
people who, because they were true and sincere
themselves, took an unknown stranger on trust and
believed in her. Lady Stonehenge (Mrs. Greene not
being here) is more than the fondest and wisest
mother could be to me. I cannot write more at
present, my heart is too full. From your always
faithful and ever grateful
" GERTRUDE MALET."
It must be remembered that Gertrude was always
of a romantic, enthusiastic nature, and that these
characteristics had been strengthened and developed
by her short theatrical life, and, indeed, by all the
A DEATH-BED SCENE RECALLED. 209
stirring occurrences of her eventful career. Perhaps
the world does not give excitable, highly-strung tem-
peraments as much credit as they deserve for deep
feeling. The silent, reticent woman may feel as
deeply as her emotional sister, but possibly not more
so ; and undoubtedly the world is moved round more
by the stirring and energetic than by the patient
plodder. It is requisite to have strong wheelers to
bear up life's stage-coach ; but it would not move so
rapidly, if at all, without spirited leaders to pull it
along.
We also give the following letter which the worthy
Bishop of Ballinasloe received in his Western See : —
"MY DEAR UNCLE,
" Only think, Gertrude turns out to be the daughter
of your old friend Malet, and niece of the Marquis of
Wrekin, and I am engaged to be married to her.
You knew my secret long ago. She refused me last
autumn at Wrekin Castle. I thought then it was
because she did not love me. It now turns out that
the real reason was because she was nameless, and
thought it would drag me down. Come over and
stop with me, and let us go together to Blackberry
Hall. It is our duty to do so, though my father may
not know us, and the Countess does not like us. I
wrote and told her, but got no reply.
" Your ever affectionate
" STEPHEN."
Lady Stonehenge gave a great reception in
honour of Gertrude's engagement. Lady Mildred
210 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
Northallerton was there, and greeted the girl in a
characteristic way : " I have to congratulate you. It
is a great ease to my mind. I feared I had been
imposed on by you, and that I had inflicted a fraud
on Lady Stonehenge. It is all right, however :
everything is accounted for by the Manning and
Wrekin blood ; it is all good, every drop of it, and
still not too goody-goody. That young man of yours
can preach, but get him to read to you and soften
down his Irish brogue. You have a good accent
yourself, and it must annoy you. I suppose at
present you think he is perfect ; quite right — until
you are married, but don't spoil a good husband
more than you would a good dog. Train him in the
very first heyday of the engagement, while he is
still docile ; and then once you marry him always
keep his nose to the grinding-stone."
Lady Mildred was a privileged person, who could
say what she liked, and her bark was worse than her
bite; still the bark was sometimes too shrill, and
irritated a sensitive ear.
The Marquis kissed his newly-found niece tenderly,
and said : " My dear niece, I was willing to be a
father to you, but I must now take second place and
only be an uncle. It is well you are caught at last
yourself, and can catch no more young men. Church
Stretton is off to India as an aide-de-camp to the
Commander of the Forces there."
Our old friend Malet was happy, but he did not take
Gertrude away from her kind friend. With all his
youthful exuberance and love of sport, he was a
shrewd man and knew his backwoods experience
A DEATH-BED SCENE RECALLED. 211
might not suit his daughter ; besides, he intended to
return to Australia and. arrange his affairs before
finally settling at home. He then told Gertrude
that he would leave her with Lady Stonehenge ; but
she absolutely refused, and insisted she must go out
with him : she said she had found her father and
would not lose sight of him again. Malet was
touched at this ; still he appealed to Lady Stonehenge,
who, to his surprise, supported Gertrude, and it was
agreed the father and daughter were to make a trip
together to Sydney. Unexpected events happened,
however, which upset these plans.
Lady Stonehenge liked Malet. Having mixed a
great deal in the world, she was not shocked by his
brogue, his want of education, or rustic manners
which had been intensified by his bush life. She
saw a resemblance in him in character to her favourite
Gertrude. She perceived in both father and daughter
the same enthusiastic, lovable nature, scorning mere
conventionalities, and withal with a tact which pre-
vented them from wounding other people's feelings
or doing ridiculous or outre things. Gertrude did not
resemble her father in appearance, except for a
twinkle in her deep blue eyes, such as is seldom
found amongst Saxon beauties.
In these days she was very happy. Those
who have known want and misery ought, and
generally can, best appreciate plenty and freedom
from care.
One feels wretched for a moment after the curtain
falls on a great tragedy, when the good people have
been all murdered or become insane ; then there is a
212 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
compensating rebound as the sensation of real life
returns with an appetite for a good supper. On the
contrary, when in a comedy all the good people have
been made happy and the bad punished, we soon are
disillusioned and become painfully conscious we have
only been playing with life, and are unpleasantly
called back to the real ills that flesh is heir to ; and,
the pleasurable excitement of the comedy having
evaporated, we feel we must bear our own burdens
still, and that life is not all " beer and skittles," as we
might foolishly desire it to be.
Mary Anne Brown was very penitent ; she was
not indeed quite so bad as poor Violet's inhuman
uncle and aunt, Lord Arthur and Lady Henrietta
Manning ; and she had tried to atone for her fault.
She was forgiven, and now disappears from our story.
The chief offenders, the uncle and aunt, were
both dead, and had squandered and lost all the
money which ought to have gone to Gertrude, in
speculating in the railway mania, when Hudson was
the " Railway King."
CHAPTER XXVI.
WAS THE BISHOP OF BALLINASLOE AT
PUNCHESTOWN ?
LORD KlNGSCASTLE received after a considerable
interval a letter from his uncle, the Bishop, in reply
to the one he had written announcing his engage-
ment. It was as follows : —
" DEAR STEPHEN,
" I was delayed writing to you from the Palace
through absence in Connemara. My heart went
out to you both, my dear son, as I love to call you,
and I will welcome Gertrude as a beloved daughter.
I am more than satisfied at your news. I never
would have opposed your match with a clever,
beautiful, thoroughly good woman, as Gertrude was
and is, even if she had been nameless and penniless.
I would have always felt convinced she had gentle
blood in her veins, though we might not exactly
have found out the source ; still, now that we do
know, it is all the better. Wrekin Mannings were
always well to the front, from Crecy to Waterloo,
and, what was far better, took an active part in
establishing civil and religious liberty from Magna
Charta to the Bill of Rights. I believe in a good
strain in human beings as I do in horses and dogs.
A cart-horse may be driven through a field,
214
AN IRISH UTOPIA.
spreading manure, but never could win the Down-
shire or Conyngham Cup at Punchestown ; and a
mongrel cur would spring a grouse. Still there are
all sorts of good strains, and I welcome an alliance
with honest old Amby Malet. I am writing to
him, telling him so, and that we both must walk
the Castle Hill next August together, though we
should die in the effort. A Malet never turned
his back on a foe, and never did a dishonourable
act, though the family did many wild and foolish
things. I respect wise people ; but on a yachting
cruise if the whole of the company were wise, time
might hang heavily on one's hands. You must
want money, and I have plenty. I hope to reach
your quarters this day week ; we will then go to
Blackberry Hall together — a duty, as you say, but a
painful one. My poor brother will not know us (if
we have been told the truth). We may not be
allowed to judge this for ourselves by my austere
sister-in-law.
" Ever affectionately yours,
" FITZROY BALLINASLOE."
We know the Bishop in his pre-episcopal days
could fill a game-bag. Was he ever at Punches-
town? We know he was a good judge of a horse ;
further than that we cannot say. If he ever were
there, we can confidently assert he conducted him-
self like a Christian and a gentleman. It seems
dangerous advice to give — that amusements, lawful
in themselves, should be avoided because they are
WAS THE. BISHOP AT PUNCHESTOWN ? 215
liable to be abused. If either the theatre or the
racecourse became a place where no person who
valued his or her good name could appear, the very
best check on the production of immoral plays or
on wild betting would be removed. It must not be
forgotten that one of the earliest means adopted for
teaching people the life of Christ and Bible stories
was the stage, and that the racecourse improves
the breed of horses, to the benefit of mankind. In
their own way the noblemen and gentlemen who run
racehorses fairly and without any suspicion of foul
play, and who lead their local teams in the cricket
fields, are thoroughly practical philanthropists, who
keep the national sports on a high level of honour,
and rescue them from degenerating into rowdy
scenes of drunkenness, gambling, and swindling.
Blackberry Hall, where the Earl of Clara was
lying, it was thought, on his death-bed, was the very
ancient seat of a very ancient family. Wealth had
come to the owners by the grandmother of the second
wife of the Earl of Clara. Her father had made a
fortune in the early days of Indian commerce, and the
money had remained in the family, and had grown by
accretions until it came to the Countess, who married
at a mature age. Our poor friend, the Earl of Clara,
married to get a home, his fortunes being at a very
low ebb. He got, however, only the name of a home,
and certainly no home comforts. A son was the only
issue of the marriage. The Countess was a shrew, and
started by being violently hostile to the Earl's sons
by his first wife, and morbidly jealous that her own
son would not succeed to the title. She was a hard
216 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
woman ; and, like most people who take the world
hardly, she herself met with little sympathy or kind-
ness. She hated Michael, the eldest son of the Earl
of Clara, and he returned the feeling with interest.
She held the purse-strings, and eventually he was
forced to exchange, as has been shown, into a line
regiment, and died in India. Of the twins, she
preferred George ; he flattered her, and occasionally
succeeded in extracting doles of money. Without
being actually in the conspiracy to oust Stephen
from his rights, she played into George's hands
by keeping Stephen away from his father; and
descended to such petty matters as having Stephen's
letters, after his elder brother's death, still addressed
to him as "The Hon. Stephen Corbet," thus ignoring
his right to be styled " Viscount Kingscastle."
Blackberry Hall was managed on the most
economical principles ; every person, as far as
possible, was on board-wages. There were no old
retainers left. The Countess would not even leave
the Earl his old valet, whom she regarded as a spy.
The one question in which the Earl overruled her
was, her son Conrad was sent to Eton. She would
have preferred keeping him at home with a tutor.
The one soft spot in her heart was for this son,
and, curious to say, he never returned her affection.
Little as he saw of him, he looked up to and
worshipped Stephen, with that glorious, unalloyed
admiration which a young boy feels for an elder
brother who has those qualities which he himself
is ambitious to excel in. Embarrassed and hard
pressed as the poor Earl was, he followed the
WAS THE BISHOP AT PUNCHESTOWN ? 217
traditions of his house, and sent his sons to Eton.
The Countess, however, succeeded in giving Stephen
a great disappointment in preventing him being sent
up to King's College, Cambridge, from Eton, and
having him sent instead to Trinity, Dublin. Except
for the bitter feeling which she had against him, and
her delight in thwarting his wishes, no one could
understand why a clever youth like him was not sent
up to a college where, being an Eton boy, he would
have been sure to get a Fellowship. If Dublin cost
more, the Countess did not pay for it — the Bishop did.
Conrad was not cunning or underhand ; he was
naturally truthful and manly ; still, he early learned
to conceal things from his mother, and she never
knew that he wrote boyish letters to Stephen, and
poured out his feelings to him in a way he did to no
other person. Stephen used to answer him. The
correspondence had no secrets in it, and nothing
which the Countess could have objected to, except
for her mad freak to try and separate him from his
Irish brothers. She was one of those narrow-minded
women who promoted the jealousy that should, if
possible, be removed between the two islands.
According to her, no good thing could come out of
that thriftless, lazy, lying, bigoted place, Ireland ;
and as to Wicklow people, they were in her opinion,
the worst of a bad lot.
The Bishop and Stephen arrived one cold, bleak
January day at Blackberry Hall. No carriage was
sent to meet them at the station. In those primitive
days a railway station was not at every man's door
in England. At Blackberry Hall now you can hear
2l8 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
the shrill whistle, and see the smoke of the engine
from the windows ; then the nearest station was ten
good English miles off. With the greatest difficulty
the Bishop and his nephew procured an old rattletrap
carriage, and a broken-kneed, broken-winded horse.
The driver had sweated so much in his early days
in order to be a light-weight in a racing stable, that
when he gave up the saddle for the box-seat, he had
apparently lost, by dijsuse, the art of putting on flesh.
He now looked a weasel-faced, dried-up old fellow,
whose eye never brightened except at the sight of a
glass of gin or home-brewed ale.
After many difficulties, and going the last five
miles in the pitch-dark night, without so much as a
star to lead them, the travellers arrived at the Hall.
The door was opened by a surly servant who had,
after some words with her Ladyship, just given
notice that he would leave, and had been given a
counter-notice of dismissal.
The Bishop had written that he and his nephew
were coming ; and as there was no house near where
they could be accommodated, the Countess had been
forced to have rooms ready for them.
In answer to the Bishop, the servant replied
gruffly he could not say how the Earl was ; he had
not heard, and referred the inquirer to the Earl's own
man and nurse.
The Hall looked bleak and gloomy ; there were
no fires, except where absolutely necessary, and then
struggling, heart-broken ones whose efforts at pro-
ducing a cheery blaze had been nipped in the bud
by plenty of slack.
WAS THE BISHOP AT PUNCHESTOWN ? 2 19
The Countess, after a time, appeared. She had
become deaf from a bad attack of scarlatina, when a
child, and always communicated with others in
speaking by the aid of an ear-trumpet. She con-
trived to turn a seeming disadvantage into a means
of getting rid of a troublesome querist. She always
began the conversation herself, and could do so, as
she kept the trumpet carefully in her own possession,
and the person who was interviewing her could do
nothing but listen, so it was only wasting breath to
speak to one who could not and did not want to
hear.
The Countess, on this occasion, in a few disjointed,
unpunctuated sentences, which it was difficult to
follow, explained to her hearers it was impossible for
either of them to speak to or even look at the Earl.
They understood her to say that his heart was feeble ;
that even the slightest excitement would probably
kill him ; that he had not wanted to see either of
them ; and that it was useless for them to have taken
the trouble and gone to the expense of coming. She
stopped when she liked, being mistress, not only of the
house, but also of the conversation, and then, in a
reluctant way, handed the trumpet to the Bishop, who
contrived to say — the Countess being very fidgety
and impatient — he would like to see his brother, if
possible, even when asleep, and when there would be
no risk of exciting him. The trumpet was whipped
away with a sudden jerk ; the Countess said : " Quite
impossible."
Stephen made a grab at the instrument ; the lady
was, however, too quick for him, and put it beyond
22O AN IRISH UTOPIA.
his reach, and, muttering that dinner had been
delayed for them, left the room.
Dinner was a dismal meal. The Countess presided
without her trumpet, which she had taken the pre-
caution to leave in her own room ; and the only other
person at the table, in addition to the two unwel-
come guests, was a severe-looking old aunt of the
Countess, whom, as the saying is, the Countess
" favoured," being indeed very like her. This old
dame was almost as deaf as her niece ; still, by filling
the lungs carefully, and then suddenly exhausting
them with a bellow, Stephen managed to keep up
an intermittent conversation with her, which rather
resembled an irregular guerilla warfare, as she
disagreed with the most colourless and harmless
propositions made to her. He had a fine, deep,
bell-tongued voice ; but even with him physical
exhaustion did its work, and as the Bishop and
Stephen tacitly agreed that a dialogue between
them which the two ladies could perceive but not
hear, would be impolite, dead silence soon prevailed,
broken occasionally by an order to a servant.
As soon as dinner was over the Bishop escaped,
and, without confiding even to Stephen, carried out
a plan he had prepared. He commenced by putting
a half-crown in the hand of the surly groom of the
chambers, and asked him to bring him to the Earl's
valet.
The valet was found, and, on getting a sovereign,
agreed to secure the Bishop ten minutes' chat with
the Earl ; but said it could not be done until after
eleven o'clock, when the Countess retired for the
WAS THE BISHOP AT PUNCHESTOWN ? 221
night, and added, " You must also square the night
nurse."
The Bishop read in his own room by the light of
a single candle as best he could, until he was called
by the nurse, to whom he gave another sovereign ;
he then was admitted to his brother's room.
To his surprise and joy — for he was very fond of
him — he found his brother better than he expected.
The Earl was delighted to see him, and evidently
took in the situation quickly, that it was a surprise
and secret visit, and must be a very short one. After
a very few words the Earl said : " Fitzroy, you have
something you wish to say to me ; what is it?"
"Merely this, Michael, who is your heir?"
" Stephen, of course, Fitzroy ; why do you ask?"
" Because George says he is the elder."
The old man started with anger, and the Bishop
was terrified lest he might have killed him, as the
Countess predicted any excitement would do ; but
no such ill consequences followed. He was merely
roused; his mind was quite clear, and his voice
distinct.
"Fitzroy, Stephen is the elder. Mrs. Simpson
knows it ; Father O'Toole knows it ; Nancy Bradley
knows it ; the whole country heard of it. George
was always a bad boy."
"Unfortunately, Michael, Nancy Bradley says
George is the elder ; and we do not know where
Mrs. Simpson is : she went to Australia."
The Bishop had not heard of Mrs. Simpson's
return. The Earl was visibly agitated and about to
answer, when the door opened and the Countess
222 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
appeared. Her own maid had not been bribed, and
therefore had remained faithful to her mistress.
The Countess came in with her white dressing-
gown on, and had the good Bishop fairly at a
disadvantage ; he was caught in a clandestine visit,
obtained by bribery and corruption. His brother
was evidently agitated, more perhaps at the ghostly
appearance of his dreaded wife than at the startling
revelation of his son George's villainy. She made
good use of her opportunity.
" My Lord Bishop, this underhand course of yours
is, I may say, eminently Irish, characteristic of an
absolutely unreliable people. If you have killed
your brother, his blood will be on your head. I
warned you. Your confederates will be dismissed in
the morning. Please leave the room."
Even if he had had a reply, he could make
none, as of course the Countess omitted to bring her
trumpet, her only means of conversing with the
wicked outside world.
The Bishop retired. He and his nephew breakfasted
alone the next morning. They were informed the
carriage would be at the door at a certain hour
to convey them to the station ; and they then left
this inhospitable mansion.
If the Countess did not " welcome the coming,"
she certainly did " speed the parting guest."
CHAPTER XXVII.
AN ETON BOY.
THE poor Bishop was sorely frightened lest he might
have hastened his brother's death. He went with
Stephen back to his cure amongst the colliers, and
wrote to the Countess asking how the Earl was.
The Countess had gained an advantage, and had no
intention of losing it. After a long interval he got
his letter returned to him, with a sheet of paper on
which was written : —
" The Countess of Clara declines all further
communication with the Lord Bishop of Ballinasloe,
as she objects to having her servants bribed to
disobey her orders in her own house, and most
strongly condemns his Lordship for endangering
the life of the Earl of Clara against the positive
warning of the Countess, who acted on medical
advice."
This letter, which put the Bishop hopelessly in the
wrong, was in one sense a relief ; he evidently had
not killed his brother, and the Earl was not dying, or
the fact would have probably been mentioned ; but
would he be allowed to die and be buried without any
communication with the Bishop or Stephen ? How
were they to ascertain what went on at Blackberry
224 AN IRJSH UTOPIA.
Hall ? No servant would dare to tell anything after
the swift punishment inflicted on the Bishop's bribed
accomplices. He did not know the name of the
doctor who attended his brother ; and, even if he did,
the doctor would certainly act under instructions
from the Countess.
The Bishop preached to the miners who, with their
families, came in crowds to the open-air service,
expecting to hear his nephew. The worthy Prelate
had a commanding presence and a good voice.
Though inferior to his nephew as a preacher, he was
far above the average, and had attentive listeners.
He belonged to a more formal age than Stephen ;
one which was then beginning to pass away; an age
when the clergy, and particularly the higher clergy,
were too sensitive of their own dignity, and over-
rated the knowledge of their flocks, attributing to
them the acceptance of the fundamental doctrines
of the Christian religion, which many of them had
never so much as heard of. The older class of
clergy had not, in fact, enough of the missionary
spirit at home which they exhibited in the colonies
or elsewhere abroad.
The Bishop returned to Ireland. Lord Kingscastle
continued his good work. He wrote to the Countess,
and implored her to send him news of his father,
but, receiving no answer, and not even, like his
uncle, getting his letters returned, he also gave up in
despair any further attempt to keep in communica-
tion with Blackberry Hall.
About six months after the unsuccessful expedition
to see the Earl, Stephen received the following letter,
AN ETON BOY. 225
written very hastily in a schoolboy scrawl, from his
half-brother Conrad : —
" ETON.
"DEAR STEPHEN,
" Just off home. The Governor dying. Will you
meet me at the junction for Herneham, and we can
go home together? He told me always to look
to you as my father, when he was gone. Do not
desert me. I feel very lonely, and will do whatever
you tell me.
" Your affectionate brother,
" CONRAD."
Stephen remarked the letter was directed in a
different handwriting — evidently by one of the
masters — to "The Reverend Lord Viscount Kings-
castle." Herneham was the railway station for
Blackberry Hall, and, no doubt, he would get share
of a carriage sent for his brother. There were few,
if any, telegrams in those days, so he had to content
himself by writing to his uncle to hurry over as
fast as possible.
Stephen met his brother at the junction, and
found him in boyish grief. The Earl had made a
pet of this, his youngest son, who came so long
after his other children. He had always been an
affectionate little fellow ; and they had had many
talks together about Ireland and Stephen.
The boy had " Eton manners," which accompany
one of the best types of the Englishman; and .though
the Irish of all creeds, politics, and ranks feel that
Q
226 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
they have been bullied and — though it is a hard
word, none other in the vocabulary expresses the
idea " robbed " by England, it is to be hoped that
we, an intelligent people, can appreciate the many
noble characteristics which distinguish the true
English gentleman from the insolent charlatans,
drawing big salaries, who have been foisted on us by
England from Dean Swift's time to the present day.
The boy was a manly little fellow, and did not,
from any false pride, try to conceal his grief; and
his distress and feeling of desolation disposed him
more than ever to cling to his elder brother, who
had already a warm affection for him.
The Bishop had ascertained in his stolen interview
with his brother that the Earl was then able to
understand worldly matters, and wished to see his
relations. As Stephen knew this, he yielded to the
earnest entreaties of his young brother, and went
with him at once straight to their father's room,
which they entered unexpectedly. They found him
still alive and perfectly conscious. The Countess
was not there. The servants had all been changed
since " the scene " of six months back ; and no
objection was raised.
Stephen's heart was melted by the evident look of
delight which he saw on his father's — now, at all
events, plainly dying — face. Conrad sobbed aloud ;
the Earl, in a weak, scarcely audible voice, said :
" Come, both of you " ; they went to the bedside, and
he joined their hands together. " Stephen, take care
of him ; my last request. Conrad, do always what
he tells you." They both said earnestly, " I will."
AN ETON BOY. 227
Even the nurse and a valet present could not remain
unmoved ; and the tears streamed down the old
man's cheek. The Earl could say no more ; and it
was evident he was too weak in body, if not in mind,
to bear any real conversation with them. In a few
minutes he began to doze away ; and they left his
room.
Stephen did not see the Countess that evening;
and saw her for only a few minutes the next morn-
ing. The Earl did not die for several days ; and
the Bishop arrived just before the end, when he was
actually unconscious. After his death, the Bishop
wrote a letter to the Countess, and gave it to her
maid to hand to her. It ran as follows : —
"DEAR SISTER-IN-LAW,
" I think it well to acquaint you that the Earls of
Clara and their ancestors have been buried for two
hundred years in the family vault at Glendalough,
in the County of Wicklow. I suppose it will be
your pleasure that my nephew, who is now head of
the house, should make the necessary arrangements
for the transport of my dear brother's remains to
Ireland, and his funeral there ; perhaps, also, you
might wish for a funeral service in the parish church
here.
" Affectionately yours,
" FlTZROY."
The Countess replied by letter also — " I have
been left by my late husband's will all his property ;
and he made me his sole executrix. I have been
228 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
professionally advised that I alone am entitled to
make preparations for his funeral ; and I will bear
no interference from anyone. The funeral will be on
the day after to-morrow ; the service will be in this
parish church ; and the interment will be made in my
family vault in the churchyard.
"GRISELDA CLARA."
Neither the Bishop nor the new Earl of Clara could
do any more. It had been agreed between them
that the letter should contain a statement recognizing
Stephen as " head of the house " ; and they thought
that would come better from his uncle than from
himself, so the Bishop had written the letter.
In the painful time which elapsed before the
funeral, the Bishop and the new Earl saw nothing of
the Countess, and seldom saw Conrad. The lad,
however, showed the greatest respect for his uncle ;
and, boy as he was, without intending anything more
than respect and kindness, prevented a gross act of
disrespect. He brought the Vicar of the parish, an
elderly, nervous, hard-set-looking little man, to his
uncle, and introduced him. The Vicar at once
engaged the Bishop to perform the principal part of
the funeral service. The church was in Blackberry
Hall demesne. The Countess and her son walked
after the bier, which was carried by the work-
people ; Stephen, alone, after them ; the Bishop had
gone beforehand to conduct the service.
The Countess, after the funeral, did not appear.
Conrad saw his uncle and his brother off. Stephen
said : " Conrad, I will never forget my father's dying
AN ETON BOY. 22p
request, and my solemn promise to take care of you ;
but I do not wish to separate you from your mother,
even if I could ; write to me as usual, and you may
always count on me."
The boy answered : " You are my head, Stephen,
and I could not wish a better ; I will write to you."
Strange to say, George Corbet never appeared at
the funeral ; his name was just mentioned between
Stephen and his uncle. That he had not been idle
will appear in the next chapter.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE PORT-WINE SOLICITORS.
GEORGE CORBET had a rather stiff, constrained
letter from the Countess, telling him his father was
dying, and that he would be expected at the Hall,
and would meet his brother Conrad at Herneham.
She did not care for him. Still, peculiar as she was,
she felt that, for appearance' sake, it was better to
have one of the elder branch present before the
Earl's death, and afterwards at the funeral. She
disliked him less than the Bishop or Stephen. She
was perfectly indifferent as to who would succeed to
the title and Kingscastle when her son could not.
She would have wished the title for Conrad ; but,
careful as she was about money, she put no value on
the Irish estates, because scarcely any income was
derived from them. Though at heart a miser, she was
a dull, stupid woman, and never clearly understood
that, unless just at the famine period, the Irish
estates yielded a very large return,, which, however,
went in paying interest on money borrowed on
the Earl's life estate, and also in paying heavy
premiums on policies of insurance, effected in his
later years, to clear off the capital of the loans at
his death.
George had consulted, long before his father's
death, a sharp Dublin solicitor, to whom, however, he
THE PORT-WINE SOLICITORS. 23!
told only what he chose of his case. He had by that
time persuaded himself he was the elder brother, and
he made no doubt of that to his solicitor, still warning
him it might be contested by Stephen. He was
advised that " possession was nine points of the law,"
and that he should make a strong effort to be first in
occupation on his father's death. He then, on getting
the Countess's letter, replied, effusively thanking her,
but saying that his regiment was short-handed, and
that he could not, until he actually heard the fatal
news, ask for leave. He, however, at once got leave,
" on urgent private affairs," started for Ireland,
surprised the caretakers in Kingscastle, who did not
dispute his right to stop there, and actually was in
occupation at the time of his father's death.
He then asserted his authority: boldly paid off the
caretaker and his wife with double wages ; installed
Nancy Bradley as his housekeeper, and a nephew of
hers, and one or two others whom he thought he
could depend upon, as servants, in one capacity or
another, but really as a garrison to hold the place.
He did not like leaving just then, and summoned
his solicitor from Dublin ; and a circular was sent
through the tenantry, asserting his title, and claiming
the estates as heir to his father.
Meanwhile, the Bishop of Ballinasloe, hearing of
George's rapid forestalling movements, summoned
Stephen to Dublin. To the Bishop's horror, he
found his nephew, the true heir, disposed to surrender
without a struggle.
" Why, man," said his uncle, "give up your birth-
right without even the excuse of a mess of pottage? It
232 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
would not be right — it would be a direct encourage-
ment to fraud and dishonesty."
Finally, he induced Stephen to leave the matter in
the family solicitor's hands — the great resource of
the aristocracy, as it saves them from all worry and
responsibility.
This was not, however, Stephen's chief motive. He
had secured the love of his life to be his promised
wife ; and he was deeply interested in his English
ministry, and felt he was doing good. He had, so to
speak, shaken off the Irish dust from his feet when
he resigned his Dublin cure ; and he hated the
public scandal of a lawsuit with his twin-brother.
If George had taken possession of Kingscastle,
the Bishop had secured the family solicitor, who
knew all the family traditions, and kept all the
musty deeds and archives in a fireproof safe, on
which were emblazoned the arms and name of " The
Earl of Clara."
In Ireland these old family solicitors were a
regular institution, which is now rapidly disap-
pearing. They were often styled " port-wine
solicitors," as they gave their noble visitors a rare
good glass of port when they called ; they had often
also purple noses from taking the rich beverage,
though they rarely outraged social proprieties. They
were very pompous and oracular, and yielded in
rank and knowledge only to an aristocratic client ;
and, therefore, being themselves great, and bowing
only to the princely suitor, they indirectly added a
further height to the pinnacle on which he stood.
They were (an odd bad boy exceptedj a respectable,
THE PORT-WINE SOLICITORS. 233
solvent, reliable body. No doubt they charged for
their services ; still, their clients' interests were their
own, and they did their work well, if rather slowly.
It certainly was an advantage in a case to have one
of these men as the conducting solicitor. The best
counsel preferred his retainer ; the presiding judge
liked to see him ; and the jurors were unconsciously
influenced to consider that he must be on the right
side when they saw him sitting beside his leader
within the Bar, looking sure of his case, eminently
respectable, richly dressed, and with a flower in his
button-hole, got from one of his extensive green-
houses in his luxurious suburban residence.
The solicitors now engaged for Stephen were the
firm which wrote the terrible letter to poor Malet.
They believed as firmly in the sacred right of the
house of Clara to their estates as any Jacobite of
Queen Anne's reign believed in the Divine right to
the Crown of England attaching to the house of
Stuart. To be just to the firm of Wiseacre & Son,
they had been approached by George, who showed
them very plainly that their costs would be safe, but
they would have nothing to do with him, as they had
been told by the Bishop that Stephen was the heir ;
and, without exactly knowing why, they had always
recognized him as such ; and, quite independently of
their own gains, they were determined to support the
claimant they thought had truth and justice on his
side.
Now, the firm on the other side — Brown & Co. —
were just as honourable men as Wiseacre & Son,
just as clever, if not a little more so, and far more
234 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
energetic. Their retainers were accepted, and their
business was well done, and they had secured quite
as able a Bar; still, Wiseacre's "brief" was more
thought of in the Bar Library of the Dublin Four
Courts than the plebeian Brown's. Old Mr. Wiseacre
was often asked to dine with a judge ; old Mr. Brown
never was ; and the fox-hunting special jurors
throughout the country, who were Tories, had a
prejudice in favour of the Tory Wiseacres and
against the Whig Browns.
Mr. Wiseacre, the head of his firm, suggested a
case for advice to be laid before Mr. Beaumont, Q.C.,
who advised an ejectment, which was accordingly
brought and served. Mr. Wiseacre then arranged
a consultation between Mr. Beaumont and Mr
Wayside, Q.C. (whom he had secured as second leader
with other counsel), and the Bishop and Stephen.
The consultation was to be held at Mr. Beaumont's
residence in Merrion Square.
Mr. Wiseacre called for his two noble clients. He
was beaming over with delight and self-complacency
at the selection of his counsel.
" Now," said Mr. Wiseacre, rubbing his hands
smiling, and looking portentously wise and self-
important, " the trial must take place at Wicklow at
the Summer Assizes ; the Leinster Bar must be kept
in good-humour, and their susceptibilities must not
be ignored. It is true Beaumont is not on the
circuit list now ; still, he was on it, and only left
when made Solicitor-General. He is a Wicklow
man, and will have great personal weight with the
special jurors. He is the most sagacious of all the
THE PORT-WINE SOLICITORS. 235
leaders. I would have liked a regular member of
the circuit," said Mr. Wiseacre thoughtfully, "as
second string, and Beaumont wanted one, and sug-
gested a name; still, I thought Wayside would be the
best for a reply for the real heir, against whom " —
here Mr. Wiseacre waxed warm with sincere, not
simulated, indignation — " an abominable plot has
been hatched to oust him out of his just rights.
Permit me, Earl of Clara." Mr. Wiseacre added,
beaming with respectful admiration on Stephen, " to
say that your Lordship is worthy of your noble
lineage, and that all my feeble endeavours [an
emphasis on " feeble," which was not genuine, as he
thought them all-powerful] will be used to their
utmost to preserve you in the position and property
that Divine Providence has marked out for you."
The Bishop and Stephen of course said nothing
could have been better managed so far than the
case, and that, if they won, they would feel under
eternal obligations to Mr. Wiseacre.
Mr. Beaumont had already known the Bishop —
indeed they had sporting tastes in common — and was
introduced to Stephen, who, to give Mr. Beaumont
his due, he never forgot was Earl of Clara.
Mr. Wayside was there, exhilarated after a great
speech he had just made in the House of Commons,
which had evoked applause in that critical assembly
from all shades of politicians.
Mr. Manly, Q.C., a leader on the Leinster Circuit —
whom Mr. Beaumont had wanted to be his second
in command — and Mr. Ryall, the junior counsel,
were also present.
236 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
Mr. Beaumont was a thorough man of business, as
well as a powerful, dexterous advocate, and an
experienced lawyer. His great forte was sagacity.
All the views of the case, on the facts and the law,
were carefully sifted by able, thoroughly capable
men, ardent for the cause of their client.
Mr. Beaumont in the end said, turning to Stephen :
" I fear for your case ; there is no doubt your brother
was well advised in taking possession ! I see the
hand of Macnamara in that, who, I hear, is to lead
against us. Mrs. Simpson being available is greatly
in our favour, though Nancy Bradley will be a
counterpoise. If Father OToole thought it his duty
to give evidence, it would have great weight with
the jury, who all know and respect him."
The Bishop, interposing : " It is a terrible calamity,
the loss of his diary."
Mr. Beaumont, smiling : " Of course if we had it
we would tender it ; but Macnamara would fight its
reception for all he knows. Father OToole certainly
went out of his way to insert statements in it."
Mr. Ryall, the junior, speaking for the first time in
the consultation : " Mr. Beaumont, I think there is
an authority in favour of admitting the whole of the
diary."
Mr. Beaumont was a kindly man, who never
snubbed juniors ; and, looking benevolently on Mr.
Ryall, he said : " I will look into your authority
with pleasure, Ryall. I see your careful hand all
through this case."
Mr. Wayside's face was a study, while Mr.
Beaumont was, as it were, throwing buckets of cold
THE PORT-WINE SOLICITORS. 237
water over their chances of success. He now broke
forth : " If there is any justice or fair play in that part
of the world known as the County of Wicklow, and
if we get a special jury of ordinary intelligence and
honesty, we must convince them that there is a foul
conspiracy to oust a nobleman, an eloquent preacher,
a man of chivalrous honesty, from his rank and his
estates. Good God! when I think of that beautiful
girl, who is now to be his wife, whom he rescued
from the grave, we would not be men if we did not
fight his just cause. If we can only get Angelica
Molloy to come forward — she is not in the conspiracy
— to tell what she must know, we are as certain as
that the sky is above us to get the jury, under the
guidance of a competent judge, to find for us."
Wayside fell back, rubbing his nose in his
inimitable manner, exhausted by his emotions.4
After a pause, Beaumont said quietly : " Friend
Wayside, I do not know whether you have heard the
rumour in the library this evening — I was there
late — that Murnahan is going the Leinster Circuit,
and will try this case in Wicklow. All I can say is,
if Murnahan and you, and a couple of good-looking
girls, get together in the courthouse — that is,
with him on the Bench, the ladies in the witness-
box, and you at the Bar addressing the jury —
you will get the verdict right enough between
you. But there was another rumour in the library,"
said Beaumont, with admirably affected gravity,
" that the price of parchment was likely to go
up, Macnamara will require so much of it for
his exceptions to the proceedings ; we must win,
238 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
if at all, on grounds that will hold water. I saw
Miss Malet in Imogen and Ophelia ; and no one
admires more than I do her beauty, accomplishments,
and virtues ; still, what has that exactly to do with
which of two brothers is the elder ? "
Stephen here said : " I would rather lose the case
than that either my affianced bride or Miss Angelica
Molloy should be exposed to cross-examination in a
public Court."
Wayside's face was a picture of scorn and indigna-
tion during Mr. Beaumont's withering remarks, but
relaxed during poor Stephen's unworldly and
generous interposition. He turned round, and,
tapping Stephen lightly on the shoulder, said : " You
are a man, my Lord, the House of Peers cannot
spare ; you are a nineteenth-century remnant of the
old medievalism, which made the saintly warrior a
priestly knight. The Crusades created chivalry, and
saved the world from the brutal barbarism of the
dark ages. I " (with an emphasis on " I," and
ignoring Beaumont) "will have you in Kingscastle
yet. I say that our client's conduct to Miss Malet
is relevant to his case. Is it conceivable that our
noble-hearted client would sully his fair name by
putting forward a case which he was not sure was
true? On the other hand, does not his brother's
case bear on it in large letters the words, ' the lying
fabrication of a blackguard and a swindler ' ? "
" Wayside, I do not like interrupting you," inter-
posed Mr. Beaumont ; " but I have a special invitation
to dine at the Castle this evening, and have no time
to lose ; we must meet again, and, Mr. Wiseacre, we
THE PORT-WINE SOLICITORS. 239
must have Father O'Toole and Miss Angelica
Molloy, if possible, as witnesses ; though I am more
than doubtful as to the admissibility of those very
portions of their evidence we are most anxious to
bring before the jury. However, it will not be my
fault if I do not play upon Murnahan's feelings."
" Well, Mr. Wiseacre," said the Bishop anxiously,
as they walked away from the consultation, " what
do you think of our chances ?"
" Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst, my
Lord ; you may rely on me doing my utmost," was
the cautiously self-glorifying reply of a very worthy
man and excellent solicitor.
Mr. Ryall, the junior, who was walking with them,
flourishing his pocket-handkerchief, with a knowing,
confidential nod to Stephen, really answered the
Bishop's question, saying : " We are doing right well ;
Beaumont will keep the yacht on the right course,
and avoid rocks and shoals ; and then Wayside will
put on every inch of canvas and win the regatta.
Beaumont is madly jealous that he is not in the
House, while Wayside is not only in it, but is also
one of its most brilliant orators."
Thus spoke the junior, who deserved all the
credit of getting up the case, facts and law, which
Mr. Wiseacre complacently appropriated without
acknowledgment.
CHAPTER XXIX.
MR. MACNAMARA, Q.C., AT CONSULTATION.
ANGELICA heard of Stephen's engagement, and was
not surprised. She never thought of him or anyone
as a lover. She had determined to devote herself
to religion. Unfortunately, the taunts of George and
her mother had forced her to examine her heart, and
she found she could never love George, while she did
love his brother. She knew instinctively that Stephen
did not love her, and she never contemplated marry-
ing him. When George, in his rage and passion on
the Upper Lake of Glendalough, disclosed his base
schemes against Stephen, the projects were so fright-
ful that the pure, right-minded girl could not under-
stand them. She, however, was clever and observant ;
and once her suspicions were aroused by the marked
difference made by the Marchesa in her treatment of
Stephen and George, and her conversations with the
Bishop of Ballinasloe and Father OToole, she saw
many things which showed her that some underhand
plot was being contrived.
Nancy Bradley did not conceal her indignation at
being turned away by Father OToole, and had
frequent mysterious meetings with the Marchesa ;
and the state of health of the old Earl of Clara was
anxiously watched.
MR. MACNAMARA, Q.C., AT CONSULTATION. 241
Angelica did not know what the Count thought
about the impending trial. He was in failing health,
and was devoted to her; but lately there seemed to
be an estrangement between her father and mother.
He never concealed his preference for Stephen over
George.
One morning when the great lawsuit was rapidly
approaching, Angelica chanced to pass by the half
open door of her mother's boudoir, and saw that lady
place a large book on the fire which was burning in
the grate, notwithstanding the hot summer weather.
The Marchesa having done this strange act, left the
room fortunately without observing her daughter.
Angelica, thinking that the book looked like a volume
of Father O'Toole's diaries, rushed in and carried
it away. She easily extinguished the flames, as the
book was only being slowly consumed, and, hastening
to her own room, she found her fears were only too
true — it was one of Father O'Toole's diaries, and the
very one he had missed. The outside binding and
some of the leaves were badly burnt.
The girl, as soon as she could escape without
being noticed, went to Father O'Toole, who was glad
to get back his book, but was horrified at the attempt
to destroy it.
He put it carefully aside, and they agreed to
say nothing about it.
"My dear child," said the old man, " you must not
hesitate to do your duty, no matter how unpleasant
it may be. You will have to be prepared, if neces-
sary, to be examined at this trial. Right must be
done. The very fact that your unfortunate mother
R
242 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
has entered into this wanton conspiracy under some
delusion that she may assist her Church, makes it the
more imperative on all good Catholics to defeat her
designs. She would not only defraud a good man
of his name and inheritance for the sake of his
unworthy brother, but disgrace the Catholic religion
by giving scoffers the opportunity of saying that we
snapped up titles, estates, and converts, using such
base means to aggrandize our holy Church."
Father O'Toole became much excited, and was
deeply moved. He dearly loved Angelica and her
father. The good old priest was also much attached
to the Clara family, from whom he had always
received great kindness. Above all, he hated any-
thing mean and dishonest, and was sensitive for the
honour of his beloved Church.
George Corbet rarely left Kingscastle, fearing,
apparently, lest some effort might be made by his
brother to oust him. Still, to Father OToole's
disgust, he ostentatiously attended Mass. Angelica,
however, as far as possible avoided him ; and, as the
Count treated him coldly, he rarely visited at the
Chateau Dijon.
The feeling of the neighbourhood was quite
against George, and his attempts to play the
convert pleased no one except the Marchesa.
Unfortunately, in Ireland, people who have changed
their faith have in most cases done so for filthy
lucre's sake ; and the Irish peasant is as suspicious
of one who turns his coat to become a Roman
Catholic as of one who does it to conform to
Protestantism,
MR. MACNAMARA, Q.C., AT CONSULTATION. 243
It was well known that Father O'Toole was
against George. The disappearance of the book —
an occurrence talked of far and wide — made people
shake their heads; and, cautiously as she might
manage it, Nancy Bradley's confidences with the
Marchesa became known.
George looked pale and anxious, and it was
whispered that he was drinking hard. Robert
Burns's words —
" Wha hae nae check but human law
Are to a few restricked ' ' —
are happily true ; and certainly George was not one of
the exceptions to the rule, for his conscience, though
it was not strong enough to make him abandon his
villainy, did not leave him an easy moment. The
Marchesa contrived to believe she was advancing
her Church by her misdeeds. George had no such
escape : he saw that he was wilfully trying to defraud
his own brother of his birthright. If Angelica was
the one woman he loved, Stephen was the one
man he respected. Bad as he was, he never would
have entered into this foul conspiracy merely to be
Earl of Clara and owner of the estates : he did it
to win Angelica ; and now that he was hopelessly
pledged to his unrighteous cause, he saw that she
was for ever lost to him. He saw her shrink from
him as one polluted and unclean, and his guilty
conscience cowed his natural daring. He rarely
addressed the girl. The Marchesa and he had
settled their plans, and there was nothing for them
to meet about. The trial became the talk of the
244 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
county. Great precautions were taken about the
jury, which it was settled should be struck so as to
make it, as far as possible, fair and impartial.
George knew, however, that no ingenuity could
manage to make him popular, and that the jury, if
they could, would find for his brother. It even
occurred to him to give in ; but he saw that such a
course would only be proclaiming his own baseness.
Nancy Bradley had become his cook and house-
keeper at Kingscastle. She was faithful to her
foster-son, and in some extraordinary way had
almost got herself to believe her story was true. She
during this time exercised an immense influence over
him. She was the only person with whom he could
discuss the question which was always present to
his mind.
" Master George," said she, " do not trouble
yourself. You cannot remember when you were
born. I can."
" But, Nancy," said the wretched man, "I know my
poor mother said Stephen was the elder."
" How could she tell ? " Nancy would answer
triumphantly ; " and your father was not in the
room. I thought," said she, using an argument
which she knew would influence him, " Master
George, my own boy, that you were afraid of
nothing. Leave it to me ; leave it to me."
Such is a sample of the talk that went on between
this curiously assorted pair up to the eve of the
Assizes.
George was summoned up to Dublin to attend a
consultation at Mr. Macnamara's house.
MR. MACNAMARA, Q.C., AT CONSULTATION. 245
Success at the Irish bar is on the whole by merit ;
and the solicitors, it must be allowed, choose the
best men. Mr. Macnamara, Q.C., was fully equal to
a forensic duel with Mr. Beaumont. He was probably
the greatest master of the law of evidence at the Bar
of his day ; and he was a subtle and dangerous
cross-examiner. He was a member of the Home
Circuit ; and there was some little grumbling
amongst the Leinster men at a Home man being
brought to lead them. He had as his second a
very rising young man, Mr. Headstrong, and as a
junior a still younger man. Both of these were
Leinster Circuit men ; and the judgment of George's
solicitor was fully shown in each of them afterwards
successively being not only leader of his Circuit, but
amongst the very foremost men of the entire Irish
Bar. Mr. Macnamara was splendidly up in his case ;
and George saw at once he was in first-rate hands.
No men are really more afraid of each other secretly
than lawyers, though in the arena they show a bold
front. Macnamara dwelt more on the weak points of
his case than on his strong points ; and he intimated
freely he did not think they had a good case.
Headstrong was more hopeful, and referred to
some authorities which were chiefly supplied to him
by his junior, which he openly acknowledged — " I
am very thankful to you, Charlie " ; or, " That's
just what we want, Charlie" being said in a voice
showing warm friendship and a generous spirit
appreciative of the singularly great merit of his able
junior. As the consultation broke up, the junior,
evidently acting on a hint from the solicitor, asked
246 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
Mr. Macnamara would it be requisite to have a
consultation in Wicklow on the eve of the Assizes.
" My very young friend," said Mr. Macnamara,
playfully tapping his junior on the shoulder with his
gloved hand, " I consider it most essential. If we
had no regular consultation, we would have, what
I am always opposed to, an informal one, where
nothing satisfactory can be arranged ; besides " —
bowing to the solicitor — " I am always averse to
depriving any professional gentleman of his proper
remuneration."
CHAPTER XXX.
THE CAT TOBIAS.
IT is a melancholy sight to see an old man left alone
in the world, just at the time when friends are most
needed to step in for a chat, and cheer him up. But
so it usually is : when the friends of youth drop off,
there is rarely anyone to take their place ; no one
who can discuss old events, and be in sympathy with
a man who has outlived his contemporaries. A time
comes when failing eyesight, failing strength, and
failing interest in the topics of the day, make reading
a trouble ; and many a formerly active man sits list-
lessly in his chair, or lies languidly in bed, waiting
for his inevitable call.
Father O'Toole sat alone in his cottage, which he
called the Presbytery — a pathetic figure, looking
aged and worried — with no companion but a large
brindled cat, who sat beside him, perched on the arm
of his chair, and purring lustily ; whilst his master
stroked his back and scratched his head.
Father O'Toole did not believe in the genuineness
of the affection of his dumb friend ; he used to say
that in Tobias gratitude was a sense of favours to
come, and that he rarely visited him except just
before meal hours.
His housekeeper announced a visitor. He did not,
however, catch the name, as he was getting deaf;
248 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
and he had not got accustomed to the voice of the
woman who had succeeded Nancy Bradley.
The visitor, when he entered, turned out to be
Ambrose Malet. Father O'Toole rose from his chair,
and wrung his hand warmly, exclaiming : " Dear old
friend, I am right glad to see you !"
Welcome shone in his face, and Malet, a tender-
hearted man himself, looked almost overcome, and
with difficulty got out in a faltering voice : " It is
some satisfaction after having been a prodigal to get
such a greeting on returning home."
"Now, Amby, Tobias and I were just going to
lunch, and you must join us and break your fast
before you tell your news."
Malet complied. He had not gone to the consul-
tation, and instead had come down from Dublin to
take a look round ; he and the good old priest soon
got on the all-absorbing topic of the trial, and they
discussed it over and over again.
" I think," said Father O'Toole, " it is over-delicacy
on Stephen's part not coming to me now ; nor has
the Bishop come. They know my opinions; still
there is information I have recently obtained which
will be of great use, which I would have written
about, but waited to see if either of them would call.
I can tell you now. Angelica brought me back my
diary, which she saw her mother trying to burn ; the
Marchesa does not know her daughter rescued it,
but thinks it is burned, and I only tell you this
confidentially, for the benefit of Stephen, and for
use in his case; but it is better not to have
the matter generally known. Angelica can prove
THE CAT TOBIAS. 249
having saved the book, and also that George had
threatened to ruin his brother for crossing him in her
affections. Of course the poor girl does not wish
to be examined, but will come forward if her
evidence is absolutely necessary. I also will, if
required, be a witness. The one person, Amby,
whom I love best in the world is that dear girl.
Her wretched mother has spoiled the happiness and
sullied the honour of her whole family. Angel and
I are prepared to do our utmost to repair the
mischief her mother and George Corbet have done."
In the end Father O'Toole persuaded Malet to
stay with him for a couple of days ; and he, at his
host's suggestion, cautiously approached his successor
about selling his interest in his old home and the
farm which always went with it.
The tenant had really scarcely any interest to sell,
being merely a yearly tenant. He had, however,
without any security, laid out a considerable sum of
money in repairing the house and improving the land.
Malet found him only too ready to come to terms;
but no bargain was finally made until the result of
the trial was determined, as if it went adverse
to Stephen, he would not think of making such a
purchase.
He did not like calling at Chateau Dijon, though
he knew the Count would welcome him, as an old
fellow-sportsman. Father O'Toole had almost given
up calling, owing to the marked coolness of the
Marchesa towards him; and it would have been still
more awkward for Malet, whose daughter's engage-
ment to Stephen was well known-
25O AN IRISH UTOPIA.
Malet found that both the Orange and Freemason
Lodges had disappeared in his absence, and that the
woollen manufactory which had been started was
doing badly. When he returned from the County
Wicklow, he called on Dr. Greene in Dublin,
preferring to go alone, and introduce himself. The
doctor wondered what complaint his healthy, sun-
burnt visitor could be suffering from, but gave him a
warm greeting when he knew who he was.
" Doctor Greene, I come to you to give the heart-
felt thanks of the father of an only child, for saving
her life. She told me you would take no fee from
her." Here the doctor waved his hand, as if not
wishing to discuss the question. Malet continued :
" I would not insult you by offering to repay you.
Please, however, accept this present, not for its
value, but, as a token of regard and gratitude."
He then produced a magnificent watch and chain,
the watch having inside the inscription : " A token
of gratitude from A. Malet to H. C. Greene, M.D.,
for saving the life of his daughter Gertrude."
" Indeed, I will take it with pleasure, Mr. Malet,
and always feel proud of it. You see I have a very
old watch and chain." " So Gertrude told me, and
therefore I ventured to offer them to you."
The information which Malet brought about the
book, and Father O'Toole's and Angelica's evidence,
were all considered so important that Mr. Wiseacre
and his head clerk went and saw Father O'Toole,
who told them in detail what evidence he could give,
and also that Angelica would surely attend the trial,
and, if really required, be examined,
CHAPTER XXXI.
THE LEINSTER BAR.
THE County of Wicklow was in a ferment over the
expected ejectment between (all legal fictions apart)
the brothers Stephen and George Corbet. The
house of Clara was one of the foremost in the land :
virtually far larger issues were involved than the
mere ownership of the estates. It was rumoured
about that a religious aspect might arise in the case,
which, though often wholly irrelevant, is, if possible,
dragged into legal proceedings in Ireland. Many
people shook their heads, and knowingly winked at
each other, wondering where George Corbet, who
had been warned off race-courses, and had his horses
mortgaged for more than their value, was getting the
money to carry on his suit. He had engaged the
best counsel that could be had, and, wherever the
money was to be found, they must be paid ; and Mr.
Macnamara, it was reported, was getting higher fees
than Mr. Beaumont, the rival leader. Did the
Count Dijon, or did the Marchesa, who had a large
independent fortune of her own, supply the funds for
the litigation ? If not, where else did they come
from ? George, on his own credit, would not get bit,
bite, or sup from Bray to Arklow. If the Marchesa
gave the money, all were agreed that she would
252 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
expect to get value for it, either in meal or in malt ;
and how would she get it except by marrying Miss
Angel to George ?
Now, vox populi vox Dei is never wrong. No one
liked the Marchesa, who was haughty, mean, and hard ;
but everyone loved Angel ; and indignation against
the Marchesa rose to a violent tempest at the idea
of her wanting to marry the loveliest and sweetest
maid in the whole country to a broken-down roue,
even if, by fraud and trickery, he did become owner
of the Clara estates, and get the title. Malet had not
been sitting half-an-hour with Father O'Toole before
the fact was known and commented on in Rathdrum ;
and after his visit of a couple of days at the Pres-
bytery, it was circulated everywhere that his host
would be a witness against George.
No one, Roman Catholic or Protestant, doubted
Father OToole's honour; but, at the same time, it
was thought highly improbable that he would take
any active part against George if he were the
accepted lover of Angelica Molloy ; so it was supposed
there could be no likelihood of a match between
her and George ; and, that being so, what then
• did the Marchesa mean ? or was it a syndicate of
scheming bill-discounters which was backing George ?
The more the point was debated the deeper the
mystery became, and the greater the tension. The
quiet little seaside town of Wicklow became crowded
on the day before the trial; not a bed was to be had
by a late comer for love or money.
Practically the entire Leinster Circuit Bar came
down from Dublin. A large number of them were
THE LEINSTER BAR. 253
engaged one way or another in the great case, and
all were anxious to see the gladiatorial combats sure
to be fought out between the counsel. The law of
evidence might be settled on knotty points. It was
even whispered that Angel Molloy certainly, and
Stephen's fiancee possibly, would be examined and
cross-examined. Father O'Toole would be in the
witness-box ; and the amount of villainy which
George Corbet had managed to squeeze into a few
short years would be minutely criticized by way of
damaging his credit.
The Bar, however, forms a very small part of the
crowds which a great trial attracts. Each of the
opposing solicitors had taken an entire house for
his army of clerks and runners. The witnesses
had all to be accommodated. Angelica was under
the care of Father O'Toole, and not with her mother.
The Count did not attend the Assizes.
When the excitement had reached fever-heat, a
blowing of horns was heard, and a private coach
and four horses dashed into the town, carrying Mr.
Macnamara, Q.C., Mr. Headstrong, and their junior.
There were bets amongst the junior members of
the Bar as to whether or not Mr. Macnamara would
drive down from Dublin in full forensic costume.
But he did not; still there he was, smiling and
gracious, and bowing acknowledgments to all and
sundry, resplendent in his summer white hat, blue
cravat, and spotless kid gloves, with his faithful valet
and attendant, Mooney, on the box-seat. They had
scarcely arrived and partaken of a slight refreshment
when they retired to the inevitable consultation.
254 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
This could be clearly seen from the street, though,
of course, what transpired could not be even
guessed at.
The next arrival was Mr. Beaumont, who had
been spending the day with an aristocratic friend
of his in the neighbourhood.
Mr. Wayside arrived still later.
No pleasanter place could be got for a Summer
Assizes or a seaside resort than Wicklow. The town
is picturesquely situated ; the ozone is welcomed by
the Bar, accustomed to stuffy courts, and eager to
get out of Dublin, for at that period Wicklow was
the first town on the Leinster Circuit. A morning
dip in the sea was most refreshing, and a stroll
on the delightful Murrow was enchanting. It would
be difficult to get an ugly stretch of country in the
whole of the cheerful County Wicklow, popularly
called " The Garden of Ireland." Perhaps the coast-
line between the end of the Murrow and Greystones
is the least agreeable prospect which could be pointed
out ; but even here there is a weird, Tennysonian,
Locksley Hall aspect about the dreary moorland and
the barren shore which is not without an attraction
of its own, on the most interesting railway line in
Ireland. At the time we are writing of there was
no railway, and it was then necessary for all persons
coming from any distance to arrive in the town of
Wicklow the evening before the Assizes commenced.
CHAPTER XXXII.
THE WICKLOW ASSIZES.
THE morning of the trial opened bright and fresh,
and the court was crowded. As Mr. Beaumont had
announced at his consultation, Murnahan, who was
Chief Justice of the Common Pleas, was the presiding
judge. He had had a distinguished career at the
Bar. His knowledge of law was unquestioned, and
his anxiety to do what was right, irrespective of
class or creed, was freely acknowledged ; still, there
was a general feeling that if two attractive young
women like Angel and Gertrude gave evidence on
Stephen's side, it would affect the Chief Justice, as
appealing to his romantic Celtic nature, which would
favour the weaker sex, and dispose him to think two
pure, spotless girls like them would discern which
was the worthier of the two brothers, and which
would be the less likely man to put forward a
fraudulent case. It was also thought that Chief
Justice Murnahan, being a Roman Catholic, would
probably have heard more of Father O'Toole's good
sense and honesty of purpose than a Protestant
Judge would have heard.
As he sat on the Bench, he looked the embodiment
of intellectual power — power which he had shown by
obtaining the highest mathematical distinctions in
Trinity College. He had a massive head, with a
256 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
leonine face, and a thick crop of shaggy hair always
escaping from under his wig. A good-natured,
kindly man, who, if he hastily said a sharp word
which wounded a young barrister, was always sorry
for it, and tried to make amends by helping on
the man he might have unwittingly discouraged.
Here was a genuine Irishman, racy of the soil, and
one of whom his country might be justly proud.
The court was densely packed by an eager, anxious
crowd. The composition of the jury was keenly
criticized, for the purpose of ascertaining how their
inclinations would probably lean. They were about
half Roman Catholic and half Protestant ; and it was
supposed, on the religious aspect, which was sure some
way to turn up, they would be in favour of Stephen.
In the first place, the foreman was an Orangeman, who,
it was said, had declared he would " eat his boots or
die of starvation " before he found for a turncoat, as
he contemptuously styled George, whose attendance
at the Roman Catholic church had become well
known. There were several Protestant shopkeepers
who would likely follow his lead. Even the Roman
Catholic farmers on the jury, it was thought, would
look suspiciously on George's conversion if Father
O'Toole was a witness against him. The only two
men who would probably be in his favour were,
indeed, two Protestants — one a sporting squireen,
who made up to George, as belonging to a higher
social grade ; and the other a horse-trainer who lived
on the borders of Kildare, and to whom it was said
George owed money. Finally, there were a couple of
doubtful men on the jury who might ,go either way.
THE WICKLOW ASSIZES. 257
It is not our intention to inflict on our readers
any lengthened history of this famous trial. Mr.
Beaumont's opening statement, which occupied a
day and a half of broiling July weather, was
exhaustive in every sense of the word, and seriously
was considered an admirable specimen of his adroit
advocacy, suiting himself to the likely tendencies of
the Chief Justice, the sympathies of the jury, and the
very peculiar and delicate nature of the testimony to
be given.
It was hinted at the same time that Mr. Beaumont,
relying on his great position, and playing on the
feelings of the tender-hearted judge, opened views of
his case which were plainly irrelevant to the issues
to be tried, and which those who were in the secrets
of his consultations knew he thought were not
admissible.
After finishing his address, he sat down, having
convinced everyone that if a very small part of what
he stated could be proved, Stephen ought, at all
events, to win on the merits, if not on the law.
" The rules of the game," as they are called, were
played on far stricter lines then than now ; and once
the examination of witnesses commenced, a great
deal of time was occupied in able arguments on the
admissibility of evidence.
This was Mr. Macnamara's strong point ; and the
Leinster Bar were delighted at the manner in which
Mr. Beaumont, a former leader of their Circuit,
showed he was fully equal to his rival, then the
acknowledged leader of the Home Circuit.
A very young member of the Leinster Bar in the
258 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
Counsel's room incautiously blurted out, after an
artful objection of Macnamara's, which the Chief
Justice decided in his favour: "What a pity the
Home Bar has got him \'' but he never repeated the
observation, as he was literally howled down by all
the members present ; and he slunk away to smoke
on the Murrow, not showing himself again until
the Bar dinner, when he was the subject of some
very scathing remarks, Macnamara not being there
as a guest, having been invited to dine with the
judges.
The real adroitness of Mr. Beaumont did not
appear until the third day of the trial, when
Mrs. Simpson was examined. Her presence in Ire-
land up to the time of the trial had been carefully
concealed from the public, and, of course, from the
opposite side, who thought she was still in Australia.
Mr. Beaumont intended to dwell in his opening
statement strongly on her evidence as most favour-
able to his case, and thus spring a surprise-mine on
his adversaries ; but just as he rose to make his
speech, a letter was put into his hand to the effect
that she was probably too ill to leave Dublin.
He had then to speak with the consciousness that
possibly his most important witness would be absent ;
in fact, he had a consultation, on the evening of the
first day, as to whether they would apply for a
postponement. She did, however, appear as a witness,
looking very faint, and speaking in a low voice. Her
evidence was quite clear. She stated that she had
been present at the birth of the twins, that Stephen
was the first-born, and that she had observed the
THE WICKLOW ASSIZES. 259
mark on his arm ; also, she swore positively that
Nancy Bradley was not in the room until after
both Stephen and George were born.
To the delight of the Bar, Mr. Headstrong rose to
cross-examine her. Even thus early in his career he
had become famous as a cross-examiner. If he
could break down Mrs. Simpson's evidence, his side
was bound to win.
He really did not shake her evidence materially ;
still, when he sat down, he left the general impression
that in some way he had seriously damaged the value
of it, though no one could exactly tell in what
particular.
Father O'Toole was examined, and there was a
sensation in Court when the half-burnt note-book
was produced. We will not enter into the desperate
conflicts that ensued as to the admissibility of the
evidence concerning the loss, recovery, and contents
of this book. Are they not all described in a report
of the trial carefully prepared by a member of the
Bar, whose skill as a reporter was celebrated, and
who was affectionately addressed by his brethren as
" Harry "?
Suffice it to say that the material facts which
he had been examined to prove were at length
elicited, to the utter disgust and indignation of
Mr. Macnamara, who talked of retiring from the
case, but, of course, did not do so.
George Corbet, it was remarked, looked ill and
depressed from the commencement of the trial, and
sat with his face buried in his hands. He started up
with an excited air when Father O'Toole was
260 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
describing how Angelica brought back the book,
which Mr. Beaumont had purposely glossed over, so
as to bring it out with more startling effect through
the witness. George, as if he could not bear to listen
to the evidence any longer, here got up and staggered
out of Court.
Mr. Headstrong, of course, was too experienced an
advocate to make the mistake of attempting to cast
any slur on Father OToole ; and he was extremely
polite when he rose to cross-examine him, and only
asked him a very few questions.
Mr. Beaumont said that Miss Angelica Molloy
v/ould be the next witness; and as her evidence
would take a considerable time, and it was then late,
he would suggest adjourning to an early hour the
next morning.
Mr. Macnamara rose, and said he was completely
at a loss to see what material evidence this young
lady could give. He was informed she was very
beautiful and very charming, and might adorn the
case, and certainly gain the sympathies (glancing
round) of his young friends of the Junior Bar.
Chief Justice Murnahan, mopping his face and
looking very tired, said rather gruffly it was better
to adjourn for the day.
The trial was resumed the next morning at a far
earlier hour than would now be fixed.
George Corbet was again there, looking dreadfully
ill and haggard.
The excitement instead of lessening increased, and
the court was fuller than ever when Angelica entered
the witness-box. She was simply but elegantly
THE WICKLOW ASSIZES. 261
dressed, and, though pale and dejected, looked com-
posed, as if she had made up her mind to go through
what she knew would be a dreadful ordeal.
Both sides recognized that, on the all-important
question of blackening the characters of George and
the Marchesa, her evidence was of vital importance ;
and inch by inch every word of it was bitterly
contested.
Mr. Macnamara ostentatiously instructed his junior
to take full notes, with a view to ulterior proceedings,
of the objections tendered by him to the reception of
evidence; and if he had threatened to retire from the
case during Father O'Toole's examination once, he
did it half a dozen times during Angelica's. He
characterized Chief Justice Murnahan's decisions, in
audible asides, as travesties of justice, and certainly
displayed conspicuously all his great powers as the
best man of his day on the law of evidence.
His efforts were practically of no avail, so far at
least as the trial went, whatever their effect might be
in after proceedings. Whether rightly or wrongly,
Angelica was allowed to tell the story of the
proposal to her on the Lake at Glendalough, the
vengeance then threatened by George on Stephen,
whom he thought his successful rival, and the
rescuing of Father O'Toole's book.
Mr. Macnamara vainly attempted, as a last re-
source, to have this evidence, or the greater part of
it, postponed for, if necessary, a rebutting case; he
being resolved in that event to shut it out altogether.
Chief Justice Murnahan's soft heart went out
completely to Angelica ; he interfered to give her
262 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
time to compose herself, and once or twice suggested
adjournments, when she looked agitated and
overcome.
Mr. Macnamara at length rose for the cross-
examination. His conduct in this part of the case
has been severely criticized.
So far as the trial went, her evidence had been,
once it was admitted as legal, damning to the
characters of the Marchesa and George ; and, of
course, the only possible way of minimizing its effect
was to show that she had a strong bias in favour of
Stephen and against George, and to expose her
alleged duplicity in luring on George to his
destruction, by pretending to favour his suit, after
the scene on the Lake. Mr. Macnamara had a
desperate case, on the merits, to meet ; and he had
(in addition to his strong legal points) to try
desperate remedies to show unworthy motives on
Angelica's part in her conduct to George, who,
whatever else he was, must be admitted to have been
her devoted lover and admirer.
If the parties had been ordinary, commonplace
people, and, above all, Angelica a flirting, giddy
girl, the course Mr. Macnamara took might have
succeeded ; and those who criticized his conduct
most could not have shown any other or better line
for him to have taken ; and once he took it, he
maintained it with extraordinary ability and courage.
We will not attempt to give more than a few bald
extracts from his cross-examination ; and even those
are deprived of the introductory preparatory state-
ments to his questions and running comments on
THE WICKLOW ASSIZES. 263
the unfortunate girl's answers, in all of which he was
completely unrivalled at the Bar.
Mr. Beaumont adopted an equally strong course,
which came in for almost more comment at the
time, but was loudly praised afterwards, because it
succeeded.
He had fought determinedly, and, on the whole,
won, in getting in the material parts of Father
O'Toole's and Angelica's evidence on their direct
examinations.
He had not occasion to interfere with Father
O'Toole's evidence on his cross-examination. He
adopted the same course of non-interference with
regard to Angelica, apparently behaving with brutal
indifference when the gentle girl was being cruelly
tortured by Mr. Macnamara.
Mr. Beaumont prudently concluded that any
attempt by him to shield her would suggest a fear
that she was being rightly heckled, and if she were
left alone, that the sympathy of everyone would be
with her. He relied on her noble character being
well known, and believed that the Chief Justice and
jury would attribute conscientious motives alone to
her conduct throughout the whole matter.
Mr. Macnamara began his cross-examination by
saying to Angelica, in a mocking tone : " May I ask,
Miss Molloy, is it your habit to publish accounts of
the proposals of your suitors ?"
Poor Angelica said : " No ; in this case I had
reasons." And, in reply to what her reasons were,
she said : " Because it was necessary to prevent
wrong being done."
264 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
Mr. Macnamara then asked solemnly : " Did this
man, whom you have denounced as a villain for his
language and manners in the boat, afterwards act as
your escort in the hunting-field, and accompany you
to church ?" Of course she had to say " Yes."
Mr. Macnamara's skill was seen in its highest
perfection in ridiculing her explanation of such extra-
ordinary conduct. And, in the end, her explanation,
or, as Mr. Macnamara called it, " lame excuse,"
was given in a stumbling, confused manner, to the
effect that she did not at the time comprehend the
meaning of George's threats against Stephen.
Mr. Macnamara then asked her sarcastically :
" Did you ever love George?"
Before Angelica could answer, Chief Justice
Murnahan interposed. He had been manifestly as
unhappy as Angelica during the cross-examination.
He shifted his wig ; he fidgeted on the Bench ; and
he looked imploringly at Mr. Beaumont, who at first
ignored his appeals, and finally shook his head,
as much as to say he would not interfere. The
Chief Justice then, when the question was put,
'Did you ever love George?" could contain his
feelings no longer, and, with the lisp which always
became apparent when he was greatly moved, said :
" Mr. Macnamara, may I ask you, do you think it is
for the interest of your case to put these questions
to any respectable young woman?"
Mr. Macnamara rose slowly, removed his spec-
tacles, holding them in his gloved hand, and said
calmly : " My Lord, I would, if possible, yield to your
Lordship's wishes ; but I have a duty to my client
THE WICKLOW ASSIZES. 265
I am bound to discharge. I am instructed that this
young girl, innocent and interesting as she may
appear to your Lordship, has been playing a double
part, and that unless I am allowed to use my
discretion and pursue my cross-examination, dis-
agreeable as it may be, my client's case cannot
be done justice to."
" Go on, go on, Mr. Macnamara," said the Chief
Justice, evidently much annoyed, and throwing
himself back in his chair.
" Now, Miss Molloy," said Mr. Macnamara, " I
have to ask you for a reply to my question, painful
though it may be to me to put it, and to you to
answer it. Did you ever love George ?"
" No," she replied.
" So I thought/' he added. He next said, with an
air of severe politeness : " Now, my young lady, I
must ask you a further question. Did you ever love
Stephen?"
The poor girl turned deadly pale, and everyone
expected she was going to faint; but, recovering
herself with a great effort, she replied, amidst
perfect silence, so that a pin might have been heard
fall : " Yes." And then the following questions were
put and answered :—
" Did he ever ask you to marry him ?"
" No."
" If he had asked you, would you have consented ?"
" Yes/'
" Did you expect him to ask you?"
" No."
"And why, may I ask you, Miss Angel Molloy,
266 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
did you not expect him to ask you — you, a beautiful
young woman, who admit you already loved him?
" Because," said the unhappy girl,*reddening now,
in contrast to her previous death-like pallor, with
shame and mortification at the humiliation she was
undergoing, and never looking more lovely and
appealing straight to the heart 'of everyone on the
jury— the Chief Justice had long since been van-
quished— " he did not love me ; he never loved
me."
The eyes of all in the Court had been fastened
on Angelica, and no one had observed the restless,
wild look which had come into George Corbet's eyes.
Just as Angelica had uttered the last few words,
and before Mr. Macnamara could make a comment
on them or ask another biting question, George
sprang up, as if maddened with passion, and glaring
at him, and shaking his fist at him, exclaimed
in a hoarse voice : " Stop ! stop ! I command you,
or you will kill her ! "
These words were followed by an unearthly
scream. Everyone, of course, turned and looked at
George ; and all were horrified at the awful spectacle
of the unfortunate man falling down, foaming, and
working in a fit of epilepsy.
He lay on the floor of the Court a dreadful sight,
with a stream of blood flowing from a cruel wound
which was caused by his head, in his fall, coming
with great violence against an iron bar in the
courthouse near which he had been sitting.
Mr. Macnamara, after whispering with his col-
leagues, rose and asked the Chief Justice to allow a
THE WICKLOW ASSIZES. 267
short respite, owing to the distressing event which
had occurred.
The Chief Justice adjourned the great case to the
next morning, proposing, in the meantime, to take
some civil bill appeals, which were standing over,
and which might occupy the rest of the afternoon ;
and the courthouse rapidly emptied.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
A DEATH-BED REPENTANCE.
ON the reassembling of the Court the next morning,
Mr. Macnamara rose in his place and said, in his
most impressive manner that owing to a letter he
had received from Mr. George Corbet, his client, he
was prepared to submit to a verdict against him ;
and, consequently, his Lordship and the jury would
be no longer troubled with the case.
This announcement was received in profound
silence. Mr. Macnamara then said he had shown
Mr. George Corbet's letter to his learned friend,
Mr. Beaumont, who agreed with him there was not
only no objection to reading it in public before the
verdict was entered, but, on the contrary, it was
highly desirable to do so ; and Mr. Macnamara,
bowing low, craved his Lordship's permission to
read the letter. The Judge bowed assent ; and
Mr. Macnamara read as follows : —
" WICKLOW ASSIZES.
"DEAR MR. MACNAMARA,
" Having heard the evidence given yesterday, I
wish to withdraw all opposition to my brother's case.
" I feel now, when it is too late, I was wrong ever
to contend for the title and inheritance with him.
A DEATH-BED REPENTANCE. 269
" I believe he is my elder brother.
" I know he has a large heart and forgiving spirit ;
and I ask his pardon for all the injury I have done
him.
" I am too weak to write, and have dictated this
letter, and intend to sign it with my own hand.
" Thanking you and my other counsel for the able
conduct of my case,
Believe me, truly yours,
" GEORGE CORBET."
The verdict was then formally entered, the lawyers
gathered up their papers, and the Court emptied,
Mr. Macnamara's last words being in an aside :
" Mooney, have my carriage ready when my lunch is
over."
The collapse of a most sensational case was a
great relief to all concerned in it, except the
Marchesa; but a decided disappointment to the
mere spectators, whose curiosity had not been
sufficiently gratified by the tortures which were
inflicted on poor Angelica, and the dreadful calamity
which befell her infatuated lover, George, who —
strange is fate — had his mad career finally arrested,
and his health and reputation hopelessly ruined, by
his infatuated passion for this noble-hearted girl, the
exalted sublimity of wjaose character he never in the
least understood.
How often, in the ordinary ways of life, a
scheming man who is supposed to be thoroughly
experienced in worldly affairs, and to read others
through and through like a book, is altogether
270 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
mistaken in dealings with an honourable man or
woman, who only desires upright, straightforward
conduct! Being crooked himself, he supposes
others cannot be different.
The public having seen Angelica on the rack, were
eager to have a look at Gertrude, who, according
to an entirely unfounded rumour, it was intended to
examine next after Angelica.
There never, of course, had been any intention of
examining Gertrude, as she could prove nothing;
she had not even left England, and had remained in
London with Lady Stonehenge.
Mr. Beaumont left in his carriage, after warmly
congratulating Stephen and the Bishop, saying, as
they thought, in a boastful manner, that he had a
standing invitation to a little dinner at the Viceregal
Lodge, to meet the Marquis of Wrekin, as soon as
the trial was over, and giving Stephen an invitation
to shoot with him in Scotland in the autumn.
The end of a great trial is like a funeral, when the
officiating clergy, the undertakers, the ordinary
acquaintances, and the public go away, and their
next engagements or employments quickly divert
their thoughts from the solemn scene they have
gone through. Each person present either at a grave-
side or in a courthouse is, no doubt, solemnly im-
pressed at the time ; but the impression is necessarily
transient, except as regards those immediately con-
cerned. The result of the trial which has been just
described was not, as may well be believed, an
unmixed joy or triumph to Stephen ; on the contrary,
the distressing scenes which had taken place were to
A DEATH-BED REPENTANCE. 2/1
him and to most of those interested in his success,
painful recollections which could never be forgotten.
Malet, on behalf of Stephen, took possession of
Kingscastle, and the doors were freely opened to
him. His entry into Rathdrum was the scene of
uproarious rejoicing, and there were bonfires lit on
all the hills, but, on this occasion, carefully watched,
so as to do no damage.
The Marchesa returned to the Chateau Dijon, and
there was some hooting, as she was recognized on
the road. Very angry words must have passed
between her and her husband, who, as we have said,
had remained at home during the trial.
The Count had been apprised each day of the
trial of what had occurred, and he had received an
urgent letter from Father O'Toole telling him of the
events of the last day, and begging him to go to
Wicklow. When the Marchesa arrived, he was just
starting. The Count — apart from his anxiety about
Angelica, the idol of his life, the one earthly
blessing left to him — writhed under the exposure of
the private affairs of his family, which he knew had
been made before the vulgar stare of a public
courthouse. He always had prided himself on being
a gentleman, which with him meant, above all, a man
of honour, and nothing could have possibly galled
him more than having his beloved and only child —
his peerless Angelica — a witness against her own
mother and his wife, who, on her daughter's
evidence, was branded as a thief, and convicted of
attempting to burn a record of her parish priest.
Father O'Toole remained in Wicklow, to take
272 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
care of Angelica. He had suffered intensely in the
whole affair. He dreaded the accusation which
might be brought, unfounded as it was, that there
had been an attempt to capture George as a convert
to Roman Catholicism.
The saintly old man had manfully done his duty,
which was a very painful one. He necessarily had
to take part in exposing the wife of his principal
parishioner as a participator in a great crime. He,
as he imagined, had shut on himself the door of the
house which had been always open to him, and had
cut himself off from the Count, the friend of his early
years.
The discharge of the responsible duties of
the ministry of any branch of the Christian Church,
and of any religion that may purify and elevate
mankind, must, when undertaken with the single-
mindedness of men like Father O'Toole, raise weak
human nature to the highest standard possible,
strengthen right impulses, quicken conscience, and
drive away what is sordid, narrow, and wrong.
He never wavered in doing what he thought
was right in this case, and in advising Angelica of
what was her duty also ; but it was remarked by
his friends that, after the trial, he did not recover
his natural light-hearted gaiety of manner for a
considerable time.
He met the Count on his reaching Wicklow, and
assured him that, though Angelica had been over-
excited and exhausted, she had nothing actually the
matter with her, and was then asleep.
It was a relief to the Count, as he dreaded their
A DEATH-BED REPENTANCE. 2/3
first meeting ; and he thanked Father O'Toole
warmly for his care of the girl and his conduct in
the matter, and assured him, not only that their
friendship would not suffer, but that this adversity
would bind them still more closely together.
" How can I ever again enter your house and
meet the Marchesa ? " the old priest exclaimed.
" That means — what will become of us all ? " the
Count said, sighing deeply. " I am not going to
lose my oldest and dearly valued friend, when I
need his sustaining sympathy most. Angelica, of
course, will now enter a convent, and I will be
left alone ; the Marchesa and I must part."
" No, old friend, you wrong Angelica and the holy
religion we all profess if you think that she will not
know her duty is to remain with you and comfort
and care you," was the quiet reply.
Angelica's feelings when she left the witness-box
can be far better imagined than described. She,
acting under the advice of Father O'Toole, and
obeying the dictates of her own conscience, had
steeled herself to tell the exact truth, regardless of
all consequences. This feeling — the sense that she
was doing her duty — had sustained her. Her evi-
dence, mercifully, was not divided over two days.
In the witness-box she had exposed her own
mother's guilt ; she had recounted the dreadful
proposal of marriage and George's wild, reckless,
and wicked threats. She had admitted being, after
this painful scene with George, on friendly and
intimate terms with him ; and, above all, to a gaping
crowd, in answer to Mr. Macnamara, peering at her
T
274 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
over his gold spectacles, she had confessed her love
for Stephen — a love which was never returned, and
which she, a highly sensitive girl, had tried to keep
a secret even from herself. She had done this
because she knew it was her duty to do so.
Many a man has been dubbed a hero, and had his
praise sounded from one end of the earth to the
other, for an act which did not require so much
courage of the highest nature as passing through
such an ordeal cost this young woman.
Still there was a worse time to come. Angelica
felt keenly, while under cross-examination, the
shame and indignity inflicted upon her ; but the
very excitement of the scene and the necessary
effort to keep herself under control, and her atten-
tion fixed on the questions asked, kept her from
collapsing whilst in the courthouse ; but on her
return to her lodgings, the strain being over, she
fainted away, and it was a long time before con-
sciousness was restored. She then became wildly
hysterical, and, Father O'Toole and the kindly
people of the house becoming alarmed, a doctor
was sent for, and when her father arrived she was
sleeping, under the effect of an opiate.
Stephen and the Bishop stayed in Wicklow to
look after unfortunate George, and Stephen hastened
at once to his bedside.
He had not, of course, cared to look too closely
at his brother in Court ; but even a casual observation
showed him that George was greatly changed ; he
looked bloated, as if he had been drinking heavily,
and he walked feebly ; but now that he saw him in
A DEATH-BED REPENTANCE.
bed, with a deep cut on his forehead, arising from
his fall, even to an inexperienced eye there was an
unmistakable look of death in his face.
His voice was so low, Stephen had to stoop over
him to catch what he said, which was : " Stephen,
can you forgive me?"
The generous answer was : " George, old man,
buck up ; of course I do, as I hope God will forgive
me. You have repented ; you have done your best
to atone for your faults. God, the Father of mercies,
will forgive you, and your brother cannot refuse to
do likewise. You are now in my charge. I have
come to nurse you."
This was too much for the dying man. He
sobbed like a child.
The door was gently opened, and the Bishop
came in.
" Uncle, Stephen forgives me. I was jealous
of him. I am so no longer. I love him now as
I did when we were little children."
" Yes, yes," said the good Bishop, " of course he
forgives you. Can I do anything for you ?"
" You can," was the eager answer ; " call Father
O'Toole."
" Then you have turned Roman Catholic, George?"
" No, no, uncle ; I should first have been a
Protestant in order to turn to anything else. I am
dying, and about to face my Maker, and afraid to do
so. Things are too serious for me. Time is too
short for me to choose a religion. I want to be
forgiven by God, and Stephen says I am."
Father O'Toole came to the bedside, and George
276 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
said to him, with fast-failing voice : " Tell Angelica
she was, at the last, my guardian angel. I never
knew what a despicable wretch I was until I saw
her under the lash, suffering for my sins."
His mind here apparently began to wander, or, at
least, he became oblivious of those about him. A
thought came to him — a verse probably learned at
his good mother's knee when he was a little child,
and the meaning of which he scarcely then realized,
and he said, as if in a dream : " Lord, remember me
when Thou comest into Thy kingdom."
Father O'Toole exclaimed : " Those were the words
of the penitent thief, to whom our Saviour made the
gracious answer, ' This day thou shalt be with me
in paradise.'" Then the Bishop said : " The penitent
thief was forgiven when he confessed his sins and
appealed to his Redeemer to save him."
A peaceful, tranquil expression came over George's
face, and the Bishop asked gently, his voice shaking
with emotion, " Are you happy now my dear boy ? "
George did not hear him. He had passed quietly
away from this world.
The next day the Count was summoned back to
the Chateau Dijon by a distracted messenger ; and
when he arrived home, he found the house in a
state of confusion. No one dared to tell him what
had happened. He asked where was the Marchesa,
and in reply was brought to her room, and saw her
lying on her bed. Coming close, and stooping over,
he perceived quickly that she was dead. There
was a strong smell in the room, and a bottle of
laudanum, half consumed, was standing on the table.
A DEATH-BED REPENTANCE. 2/7
At the inquest which followed, the Marchesa's
maid said that her mistress had eaten nothing after
her return from the Assizes, and drank only a cup of
coffee. She said she was tired, and went to her
room, telling the witness she did not need her
assistance ; in the morning she went and found
the bedroom door bolted ; after a while, the witness
called through the door, and, getting no answer,
she summoned the butler and another servant ;
they broke open the door, and found the Marchesa
just as the Count saw her.
The Count stated that when she returned from
Wicklow the day before he reproached her with her
conduct, and she answered him defiantly; immediately
afterwards he had to leave owing to the alarming
accounts of his daughter's state of health. He said
positively that he made no use of threats to her, and
he had no reason to believe she would take her life.
Thus died, almost simultaneously, the two people
who had done so much harm and stirred up so much
strife.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE DOG TEAGUE.
ANGELICA slowly recovered ; she had sustained a
severe shock both mentally and physically. She
never asked about her mother ; and until she was
sufficiently recovered to leave Wicklow, the dreadful
news of the Marchesa's death was concealed from
her. The daughter thought that her mother had
died suddenly from heart-disease, and she never
learnt the real truth. To the surprise of everyone,
the Count and Angelica preferred going back to
the Chateau ; but it soon became painfully evident
to Father O'Toole that they had returned only for
a short stay. The Chateau was dismantled ; its
art treasures were given away. The old priest was
given, as souvenirs, a couple of priceless pictures
which he had for years been accustomed to admire.
What touched him most was a final visit he had
from Angelica. She came to him with her pet
Irish terrier following her, with a solemn look on
his face, as if he had a presentiment of what was
going to happen, and most probably he had ; dogs
certainly know when a house is about to be shut
up ; they know the meaning of packed trunks, and
read the faces of those they are fond of as we do
books.
THE DOG TEAGUE. 279
" Father," said the girl, trying to speak calmly,
" I have brought you Teague. I know you will
value him for my sake, and he knows he is not to
worry Tobias ; and it will be my last word to him.
You have often let him share Tobias' saucer ; and
though he hunts all other cats, he never touches
him." She ran on in this way, trying to avoid
anything more serious in her farewell to one she
remembered as long as she did Father O'Toole, and
who loved her as well as if she had been his own
daughter.
" Won't you take him with you, Angel dear ? He
will be company for you."
" No, no, Father O'Toole, Teague is a regular little
Irishman. He could not understand foreigners or
their ways. It is better for him to remain here.
Good-bye, dear, dear friend ; if I send for you, you
will come to me?"
" Yes," he answered gravely, " if not before then
summoned by my Maker to give an account of
my stewardship."
Poor Angelica took Teague in her arms and
hugged and kissed him ; the loving fellow whined
piteously, and she fled from the house.
The Count and his daughter went first to Paris,
and finally settled down in the North of France.
The Count never rallied after his wife's death ; his
natural gaiety and bonhomie deserted him, and he
shunned all society, except that of his devoted
daughter. Angelica always had a smile for her
father, even when she felt least inclined to be
cheerful, seeing her beloved charge so sad, and
slowly but too surely fading away.
28o AN IRISH UTOPIA.
We anticipate by a few years an account of the
termination of his sufferings. About five years after
the father and daughter had left Ireland, Father
O'Toole was summoned by a letter from Angelica
to a watering-place in Normandy, whither the Count
had gone under medical advice. He at once obeyed
the message, and arrived in time to see the last of
his dear old friend.
The Count made a peculiar will. He left an
ample provision for Angelica, an annuity to Father
O'Toole, and a direction that Chateau Dijon was to
be razed to the ground. He explained to the old
priest he did not want the finger of scorn pointed
at the house, and he desired no memorial left of his
unfortunate wife's death.
Angelica at once entered a foreign convent, and
chose one where she would have an opportunity of
teaching and training Irish and English girls.
" They might feel lonely, Father O'Toole," she
said, " coming to a strange land and strange tongues ;
Irish girls are not very good linguists, are often
home-sick, and a little petting at first could do them
no harm, and would not interfere with their religious
duties."
Angelica in time rose to be Mother Superior of
her convent ; and by her abilities and education, and,
above all, by her unselfish and saintly life, she won
the respect, admiration, and devoted love of all
around her.
CHAPTER XXXV.
ARE THE IRISH AS BLACK AS THE ENGLISH
PAINT THEM?
STEPHEN, as a matter of course, formally established
his right to vote as Earl of Clara for the twenty-eight
Representative Peers in the United Parliament of
Great Britain and Ireland. There were then several
vacancies amongst the twenty-eight Peers, including
the vacancy caused by his father's death ; and he
received the distinction of being elected to one of
them, and therefore entitled to sit in the Imperial
Parliament.
After taking his seat he returned to his curacy in
the Black Country. Gertrude remained with Lady
Stonehenge.
It was felt after the tragic events which had
happened the marriage could not take place for
some time. Stephen found he had to come up very
often to Westminster for an Ecclesiastical Bill which
was then before the House of Lords ; and he certainly
did distinguish himself as a speaker in that illustrious
and critical assembly, and was of great use to the
high-church party to which he belonged.
He was offered and accepted a Canonry in
St. Paul's Cathedral, which he took on the condition
of being allowed, when wanted, to return as a
missionary preacher amongst the colliers, in whose
282 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
spiritual and temporal welfare he took a very great
interest.
Stephen, as a Canon of St. Paul's, when
announced to preach in that vast building on
Sunday afternoons, addressed large crowds of
people, most of whom rarely attended any religious
service. Many of them doubtless came to mock,
but it is to be hoped some of these remained to
pray. He was not only a pulpit orator, who was
able to catch and keep the attention of his
congregation in an ordinary building ; he combined
with this power of interesting his audience in what
he said the physical power of making himself heard
to an extent few others possessed. He had a
marvellous carrying voice, which was heard at a
great distance by those present in the Cathedral.
Gertrude went on a visit to Wrekin Castle, to
be welcomed as a kinswoman ; the kindly old
Marchioness wrote to her.
Lady Stonehenge said to her on leaving : " Mind,
Gertrude, you are to be married from my house in
London ; only on those terms will I let you go."
And Gertrude blushingly consented, for was not
Stephen standing by, ready to bring her to the,
railway station?
Lady Stonehenge about a week afterwards got
the following from Lady Mildred Northallerton : —
" YORKSHIRE.
" DEAR GUSSY,
" I admit your philanthropic folly did not turn out
so badly this time, though I am against mulattoes
ARE THE IRISH AS BLACK AS PAINTED? 283
and mongrels ; and what is your great heroine and
peerless beauty but a mongrel, half English and half
Irish? The Irish may have white skins, but they are
all rebels, and dangerous, and the Protestants are
worse than the Papists ; they are ruder, and want
what they call more rights, and claim to be English,
though they have potato faces and brogues in voices
which are very loud, and in shoes which are very
thick. My cook, May, who had never been out of
Yorkshire, and got her training at the Petworths,
asked me, when I returned from Ireland, whether the
Irish were blacks, and, before I could answer, my
housemaid said, ' Lor', no, May, I thought they were
black at first when I saw them at Bishop Auckland,
coming out of the coal-pits ; but when they wiped
their faces — they never wash them, like you and
me — they are only brown.' Well now, Gussy, you
may laugh at all this, but the Irish are not the
English, and a half-bred generally has none of the
good qualities of either race. So I am glad you are
getting rid of her ; though, you old fool, why are
you giving her the wedding-breakfast, and asking
me to it? I suppose I must go to take care of
you, and flirt with my former flame, Wrekin.
Hoping you will get a little sense,
" Yours, as ever,
" MILDRED."
Lady Stonehenge bore more from Lady Mildred
than anyone else. There were perhaps some faint
murmurs from her own daughters that there were
284 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
as good fish in the sea as ever were caught, and that
Miss Malet was made too much of; still, Gertrude,
with great tact, disarmed criticism. She never
changed her manner after her position became
established, except that she became a little less
distant, and one with whom a joke might now be
made.
She returned, after her visit to Castle Wrekin, to
a house her father had taken temporarily in London,
before finally deciding where he would settle, and
whether it would be necessary for Gertrude and him
to make a short trip to Sydney to wind up his
affairs; and it is probably unnecessary to mention
that the Canon of St. Paul's was a frequent visitor
there.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
DON'T MOVE THAT FONT.
THE marriage of Stephen and Gertrude, after all,
did not take place in London. The Marquis, grand
old English nobleman as he was, said : " Gertrude
has been cruelly used by our family. She was
robbed of her name for a long time, and permanently
of her fortune, and I am resolved to try and make
up for it."
He actually offered, and pressed to be allowed, to
pay back the money his uncle Arthur fraudulently
received, but neither Stephen nor Malet would hear
of it.
The Marchioness then came forward, and said the
most practical way of showing to the world that
Gertrude had been restored to her true position
was to have the wedding from Wrekin Castle, the
ancestral seat of the head of her mother's family.
Lady Stonehenge had too much good sense not to
see that this was for her protegee's advantage, and
contented herself by giving a handsome wedding
present, and engaging the couple for a reception in
her house in Grosvenor Square, after the honeymoon.
They were married, then, in Wrekin Parish
Church. The weather was propitious, and the party
walked through the demesne to the ceremony.
286 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
The church had been an abbey church, and was a
splendid old fifteenth-century structure, which had
been fortunately completed before the Reformation
had arrested the progress of ecclesiastical architecture.
It had been well preserved, and a Christian service
had been without any interruption always celebrated
in it from the time when it had been erected. It had
a curious roof and numbers of crosses and crucifixes
and rare stained-glass windows, which had all escaped
the vandalism of the Puritan soldiers. The nume-
rous relations and friends of the family were invited.
Stephen wrote to his stepmother, asking her to allow
Conrad to be his best man, and, of course, a formal
invitation was sent to the mother and son by the
Marchioness. Rather to the surprise of everyone,
both invitations were accepted by the Dowager
Countess, and Conrad wrote a loving, boyish letter
to his great hero, Stephen.
The knot was tied by no less than two Bishops.
Of course, one of them was the Bishop of Bal-
inasloe, and the other the bishop of the diocese
where Stephen had worked so diligently and success-
fully amongst the colliers.
Malet, being low-church, was assigned Lady
Stonehenge to take care of at the wedding. She
was a sympathizer with the Dissenters, and usually
attended one of Lady Huntingdon's chapels ; so,
if they were disposed, they might criticize together
any part of the service they objected to, without
doing harm, if they did no good.
Malet murmured at the crosses and crucifixes
and the figures on the windows ; but Lady
DON'T MOVE THAT FONT. 287
Stonehenge explained to him if people did not
worship or adore them it did not matter, and that
they were in keeping with the character of the old
church.
" If they were put there now for the first time,"
she said, warming to her subject, " we might suspect
something ; but it would be an intolerant act to take
them away."
" I thought," said Malet suspiciously, " I caught
the Vicar bowing to them."
" Oh, that is to what we call the communion-table,
and he the altar. We must only leave them alone."
" Well, Lady Stonehenge, I will keep my mouth
shut if it were to suffocate me ; and if all Puseyites
are as good as Stephen, there cannot be as much
harm in their teaching as I once supposed ; and
hardship and travelling may have taught me more
than I once would have cared to learn."
The wedding-breakfast was a grand, solid, sit-
down -at-a-table affair in the good old style — not
one of your modern, gimcrack receptions, which are
merely crush " At Homes," with champagne spilled
and wedding-cake crumbled about the carpet, if,
happily, they do not also damage the ladies' dresses.
The Bishops were in turn asked to propose the
bride's health ; but they agreed in saying that that
duty would be more appropriately discharged by
Dr. Greene, who had providentially saved her life.
The leading Dublin doctors and surgeons have
always held their own well as orators iti comparison
with the Pulpit and the Bar ; and Dr. Greene was no
exception to the rule.
288 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
Other toasts were also given, including the time-
honoured one of " All Friends round the Wrekin."
The festivities passed over successfully ; and,
subsequently, Lady Stonehenge's reception was a
great affair.
The happy couple stayed in Malet's London
house before finally deciding what they were to do.
Just then the Vicar of Kingscastle died. Stephen
declared that was like a message to him to go over
to Ireland to help the cause. He then decided he
would live in Kingscastle, and be his own Vicar.
There was consternation at this resolution, both
in the Dartmoor Collieries and at St. Paul's.
Stephen resigned all his English appointments ; but
said, if invited, and not forgotten, he would often
run over to preach. Still, his permanent residence
and work would be in Wicklow.
At St. Paul's there was murmuring at his so soon
giving up the Canonry to which he, so young a man,
had been appointed. He saw that his loss there
would undoubtedly be felt ; yet he thought an Irish
absentee landlord neglected his plain duty, and that
" property had its duties as well as its rights"; and he
knew that his Irish Church had fewer active workers
in its fields than its English sister.
Stephen and his bride went to Kingscastle to
live ; and old people still talk of the dragging
home of his Reverence, the new Lord, who gave up
England and Queen Victoria's court to come and
settle amongst them ; and the beautiful young
Countess who sang " Kathleen Mavourneen " for
them from the steps of the castle.
DON'T MOVE THAT FONT. 289
The home-coming actually made a young man
for the nonce of Father O'Toole, who presented the
Countess with a beautiful brooch consisting of a
harp and cross.
His speech on the occasion was a very happy one.
He said he felt as if he were getting, in the new Earl
of Clara, a coadjutor to help him in his old age ;
that the house of Clara deserved well of the pleasant
valley from which it derived its title ; that the
lovely bride now coming to reside amongst them
was the fairest flower of the garden of Ireland ; and
that she would be the queen of love and beauty in
the grand ancestral castle, which had always kept
an open door for all seeking its far-famed hospitality.
The speaker, it may be imagined, was cheered
to the echo. He followed up his speech by a sermon
on the next Sunday, which we would be tempted
to give were it not that we might be accused of
plagiarizing too many of his discourses, and antici-
pating their issue in due course from authentic
manuscripts.
The Earl of Clara preached three sermons in his
own church on the same Sunday to overflowing con-
gregations, when he felt satisfied he had found pastures
new and abundant for his ministry. He was the
first rich man of the title. His father, who had had
only a life estate in Kingscastle, and whose life had
been heavily insured, had left the property practi-
cally unencumbered to his successor. Malet had
made a large settlement on his daughter; and old
Lord Dartmoor, who was immensely proud of
Stephen, his expectant heir, made him a very liberal
U
2QO AN IRISH UTOPIA.
allowance in anticipation of the vast inheritance
which would finally come to him.
Stephen made good use of his wealth in many
ways. He took down and rebuilt the vicarage
for his Curate. He next resolved to practically
rebuild the parish church, and consulted the Bishop
about it, who wisely advised him to introduce
nothing which could be regarded as high-church, or
even leading to it.
" Of course, uncle," said the young Earl, " I cannot
leave that font sticking up there before my eyes at
the top of the church ; I will put it down at the door
where it ought to be ; don't you think so?"
" Do you want my private opinion where a font
ought to be, Stephen ; or what I would advise you to
do in the present case ? "
"Both," said the nephew, smiling.
" Then, my private opinion is the font ought to be
removed to the door ; but my advice to you is to
leave it exactly where it is. I as a young man
admired the Oxford movement, and became what
my friend Amby calls a Puseyite, and as an old
man I have not changed my opinions ; and when it
is necessary, I hope I shall have the courage and
honesty to say what I think ; but my experience as
a. Bishop is that there can be nothing more unwise —
I go further, nothing more unchristian — than to start
angry discussions on immaterial questions. You are
at present beloved in your own parish ; everyone
will rejoice at your restoring and enlarging the
church ; but if you touch that font, it might
destroy everything."
DON'T MOVE THAT FONT. 29!
*
" I spoke to my father-in-law, and he said nothing
against it," said the poor fellow, not wishing to give
up his little hobby.
" My dear nephew," said the good Bishop, laugh-
ing, " if you publicly swore allegiance to the Pope, I
positively think Amby would say nothing. He told
me the other day he was sure neither Martin Luther
nor Berkeley could hold a candle to you."
" But uncle," the young man replied, playing his
last card — and the card always used by an inno-
vator— " would it not be narrow-minded and bigoted
for anyone to object to changing the position of that
font ? "
" I would agree with you, Stephen, if it were the
other way about, and the font at the door, and any
fool proposed to bring it up to where it now peace-
ably stands ; but a charge might, I think, be fairly
enough brought against you in either of two ways
for proposing to bring it down to the door : either
that you were narrow-minded and petty for wanting
the change ; or that the change meant a declaration
of some new and mysterious high-church doctrine
which the Irish Puritan might object to."
" Say no more, uncle," said Stephen, the Christian,
gentlemanly spirit in him happily asserting itself;
" the font will stay where it is. Now, to pass on to
another question : I am thinking of a new harmonium
which Gertrude can play."
" There, Stephen, you are on perfectly safe ground.
Every Irishman, be he high-church, low-church, or
moderate-church, yes, even Methodist or rabid Dis-
senter, provided he be a real Irishman to the back-
AN IRISH UTOPIA.
bone, will be charmed to see a handsome woman —
mind, my remark would not apply to an ugly one —
playing the instrument ; and, what's more, I am quite
sure, playing it divinely."
Stephen was made an honorary Canon of
St. Patrick's Cathedral; he often preached there,
and in many other churches in Ireland, and was
generous in his support of many charitable objects.
However, he steadily refused all Church promotion ;
and he gave his time and thought principally to his
own beloved district.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
THE HUMMING BOWL.
MALET again sounded the tenant who had taken
his house and farm, and found him willing to sell
at double the value of his interest ; at this price,
our rich Australian bought him out. Stephen
offered to give his father-in-law back his old lease-
holds, including the sub-tenancies. Malet, however,
refused. " No," said he, " the English Government
treated the landlords badly, the tenants worse, but
the middlemen worst of all. In the English gar-
rison in Ireland " (he continued) " the nobility and
so-called aristocracy, like the Life Guards and Horse
Guards in England, are merely for show, with their
gewgaws, swell English accents, and gold lace, and
are feasted like returned prodigals in St. Patrick's
Hall; but the poor ' divils ' of middlemen are the
fighting line and scouts who have held the country
for the English Government. The middlemen have
been hit by the landlords in the face, stabbed by
the tenants in the back, and deserted by the selfish
Saxons. No, thank you, Stephen, I '11 have no more
tenants; I prefer being one myself; and there may
be signs that their day is coming."
Malet found it was not necessary for him to
return to Australia. Young Jimmy Simpson, in
whom he had justly full confidence, was able, by
294 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
correspondence, to settle any affairs which Malet had
not concluded before leaving.
He had, indeed, latterly been gradually winding up
his business and ventures. He had carefully invested
his capital ; and therefore there was not much to be
done. He had long since paid in full his old Irish debts,
and provided handsomely for his cousin, the Bank
Manager, who had suffered through his downfall.
It was curious how personally popular Malet
had become. No more violent politician could
be found in Ireland at a meeting. He was an
ideal out-and-out Conservative orator of the old type.
He used strong, racy language, undiluted by any
qualifications or exceptions ; he made handy similes,
either bucolic or sporting, and mixed up with it
all a power of hitting a nail on the head, or a
weak point in a Nationalist's argument, when it
came in his way. But, as was said of him, he
hit out straight ; never did a mean or shabby thing ;
never kicked a man when he was down ; and
delighted the country people by his fearless riding
and unerring shot. They were glad to see him
amongst them again, particularly when he asked
them for no rent, and had his former ideas of a
day's pay for a working man greatly enlarged by
his Australian experiences.
Malet, however, was not the active sportsman he
had been ; though, as he said, when he was up in
time to the dog in a dead-set, he could still bring
down a grouse. He often suffered from indigestion,
and determined to consult Dr. Greene. That wise
physician heard his case, and asked him what he drank,
THE HUMMING BOWL. 295
" A great deal of tea and a little water."
" Dear me ! " said the doctor. " Do you take no
stimulant?"
" None, for the last ten years. I never was a
drunkard ; but I got into the habit of ' treating,'
or ' shouting,' as they call it in Sydney. I gave up
drinking altogether — and made my fortune. I had
my eyes then clear, when others had them red."
" Well, now, Malet," the other answered, " I will
advise you to take good claret, or ten-year-old
John Jameson ; it will enable you to assimilate your
food. You have many years before you yet ; but
you want a fillip — say a couple of glasses of claret
or a glass of whiskey."
" Well, doctor," said Malet, slowly and thought-
fully rubbing his chin, " I always found claret
tedious drinking ; and as to ten-year-old John
Jameson, it may do very well for old ladies or for
cordials — it is too mild for me. I would be more
inclined to the five-year-old, with a bit of a bite in it,
if I tried it at all ; or perhaps, better still, a blend
between five-year-old Jameson and George Roe of
the same age ; and as to one of those small sherry
glasses in a tumbler of boiling water, you could
neither taste it nor smell it. What do you say to
a glass and a tilly, doctor ? I would sooner take
none than take it mawkish."
" Malet," said the doctor, with much gravity,
"yours is the language of strong liquor, blended
with strong commonsense. There is nothing weak
about you. My prescription is — Five-year-old John
Jameson, with a dash of George Roe through it in a
296 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
large claret glass, to make one tumbler of punch,
each day after dinner ; or with cold water in summer.
As to whether or not you add sugar or lemons, I
leave to your uncontrolled discretion."
" All right, doctor," said the ex-Australian. " It
will always be hot punch in old Ireland. Cold water
may do well enough in a dry, dusty place like New
South Wales."
Malet returned home better, in anticipation, for his
consultation, bringing down with him a supply of
the blend. He took the doctor's prescription, and
never exceeded it, or was tempted to do so. He
lived near his daughter, but still did not haunt
Kingscastle, or try either to live up to his son-in-law
or bring him down to his level. He had sent money
over to his widowed sister in Dublin, and got her
family well educated ; and now one of his nieces
was glad to come and keep house for him, and (as
he remarked to Father O'Toole) was well able to
take her place amongst the company at the Castle.
The priest and the Orangeman often dined with
each other. Malet at first, when he was the entertainer,
had light wines for his guest ; but one raw, damp
evening in January he said to his old friend, "Ah,
Father, don't you think a drop of the wine of the
country would warm you better, and form a pleasing
contrast to that cold, sleety rain?"
" Well, Amby, I am not above taking advice in
secular matters from you ; I will try it to-night, any
way," said the genial priest, with his fine old Irish
smile irradiating his face.
Father O'Toole found Dr. Greene's prescription
THE HUMMING BOWL. 297
suited his constitution also ; and Malet, delighted that
his advice had been taken, said : " Now, Father, the
Papist — pray excuse the term — through his landlord,
stilU pays tithes to his Protestant minister ; why
should not the Protestant do likewise to his parish
priest ? As my tithes and dues to you, I will send
you a cask of my blend. And did not you, my
parish priest, stand to me years ago when others
were against me?"
"Amby, I will take your dues and share them
when you dine with me ; indeed I am to have a
Visitation next week, and I always have to get in
whiskey for it ; and I suspect that your blend will
go down much better than anything I could buy."
These old cronies had many a pleasant, quiet little
dinner and talk together; and both of them knew
how to be merry and wise.
Father O'Toole was the first to fail. He wanted
to retire, but his Archbishop and parishioners would
not hear of it. He got an additional curate.
" My only coadjutor will be the Earl," he said in
speaking to Gertrude. He was a fine old type of
parish priest ; and there were and still are many like
him. It must not be thought that Father O'Toole was
a tuft-hunter, or fond of making up to Protestants, or
what is sometimes called in Ireland, " a Government
man." Nothing of the kind ; we have only told so
much of his history as enters into our narrative.
One might think, in reading Boswell's Life of
Johnson, that for years Boswell was continuously in
his company ; nothing could be further from the
truth ; still, Boswell made the most of his oppor-
2Q8 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
tunities. And so we have tried to do with Father
O'Toole. He was an able, learned, good man, without
vanity or worldly ambition. Being a highly-cultured
man, of good birth, he naturally enjoyed interesting
and refined society; but he mixed chiefly with his
Roman Catholic parishioners, and that he had won
their respect and affection was shown by his having
the largest funeral ever remembered in these Wicklow
highlands.
He never regarded his old friend Dr. Doyle's
views on the reunion of Christendom as within the
bounds of practical religion ; though it is possible,
in his actions in this work-a-day world, and in his
temperament, he was nearer to it than his more
earnest, energetic friend. Father O'Toole was not
the man to preach a crusade or a new departure
in religious thought, or to carry Catholic Emanci-
pation, or abolish unjust tithes ; but in his own
quieter way he did a great deal of good. He had
" charity " in the widest and most comprehensive
sense of the term, and succeeded in diffusing a
respect for this great Christian virtue throughout
his large mountain parish.
Malet became absorbed, in his later days, in the
all-engrossing pursuit of teaching his grandson, the
future Earl of Clara, how to ride and shoot. " You
may," he said to the father and mother, "attend
to the rest of his education; I will confine my
attention to these two all-important subjects." The
boy was a healthy, well-grown, manly little fellow,
with a fine pair of blue eyes like his grandfather.
As soon as he had got well through the donkey
THE HUMMING BOWL. 299
stage, Malet presented him with a pony ; one, as he
said, with a little touch of spirit in it, which would
try the lad's mettle. He began his grandson's
sporting education with rabbit-shooting; but he
never lived to finish it.
The substitution of breech-loaders for muzzle-
loaders was declared by Malet to be the greatest
invention that ever was made. The Earl presented
him with one of the new guns, and for a long time
he kept putting the cartridge in and taking it out,
and finally ejaculated, " Bless my soul, to think of
things coming to that." He was rather doubtful at
first if they would shoot hard, and never rested until
he had killed a rabbit with one. He had everything
planned to ride a pony up to the top of the Castle
Hill for the August grouse-shooting ; but alas ! it
was not to be. He insisted on driving his gig to
Rathdrum in a downpour of rain. From the con-
sequent wetting he contracted a chill ; and after a
few days' illness he passed away.
The Bishop of Ballinasloe did not long survive his
friend Amby.
Lady Stonehenge, many years before these last
events which we have just related had occurred, paid
a summer visit to Kingscastle — her very first visit to
Ireland — and related her experiences in a letter to
Lady Mildred Northallerton, which, fortunately, has
been preserved. It ran as follows : —
" KINGSCASTLE, May.
"DEAR MlLLY,
" At last lohave found my way to this green isle
of saints and sinners. Why did^you, you fussy old
300 AN IRISH UTOPIA.
woman, try to put me off going ? I stopped a few days
at Chester on my route, and then trained on to Holy-
head ; and, after seven long hours, reached Kingstown
Jetty. The sail into the Bay of Dublin repaid
all — a miniature Bay of Naples, with Sugarloaf
mountain, like a little Vesuvius — what a pity you did
not yourself get up to see the view! — and then on by a
queer, narrow little railway to ' dear, dirty Dublin.'
To be poetical, I found our melancholy sister Erin
in tears — and such tears — the rain fell in torrents.
The captain told me to expect rain, as it was
suspiciously bright sailing in. Well, when it did
clear, it was sunny and balmy — not too warm ; and
Stephen and Gertrude, who were staying in the city,
drove me down here, through a lovely country,
hill and dale, looking, I am told, at its best. The
rivers and brooks were full of water, and the haw-
thorn, the furze, the broom, and the rhododendrons
were all in full flower, and perfumed the air.
May is clearly the month to visit Wicklow, though
some tell me August — the month of the heather — is
lovelier still. Why on earth, Milly, did you stick the
whole of your time in Dublin ? Oh, the happiness
of my darling Gerty ! I defy you, Milly, to say
anything against her. They get on splendidly. I
dined with Mr. Malet, and he insisted on giving me
a taste, as he calls it, of his brew of punch — made by
some mysterious blend — and, well — it was uncom-
monly good. ' There's not a headache in a hogshead
of it,' he said. I did not take a hogshead, but the
'drop' (I believe that is the correct expression) I
did take did me no harm. Father O'Toole dined
THE HUMMING BOWL. 3OI
at Mr. Malet's, and I have also met him frequently
here. He is a dear old man. We had long chats
about the Continent. He was delighted to hear
I had been at Lisbon.
" My pet companion makes an ideal Countess.
She is, as you yourself must admit, handsome and
stately, but she is more. She is generous without
being ostentatious, for she does not let her left hand
know what her right hand doeth. They have nice
children, and my little god-daughter is very like her
mother.
" Gertrude desires to be kindly remembered to
you, and says she will never forget that it was on
your recommendation I took her ; and she also says
that it was fortunate she had you to tell her plain
facts, or she would have been spoiled altogether.
Come, now, Milly, does not this disarm you ?
" Ever yours,
" AUGUSTA STONEHENGE."
Lady Mildred's reply has unfortunately been lost.
THE END.
PRINTED AT THE
BY PONSONBY & GlBIiS.
Sold by alt Booksellers,
THE QUICKSANDS OF LIFE:
A NOVEL
BY MR. JOHN H. EDGE,
The Author of An Irish Utopia.
OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.
" A tale, mainly of Irish life, centring round an old Irish
family, the Leslies, and particularly its two sons, Captain
Rupert and Bernard, the barrister, with much matter in it —
finance, love, and anti -landlordism, the Irish peasant and the
social functions of Grosvenor Square." — The Times.
" Mr. Edge is known to us as the author of an interesting
and illuminating book, which incidentally throws considerable
lighten sectarian difficulties and land purchase in Ireland; but
this, we fancy, is the first occasion upon which he has perpe-
trated a novel pure and simple — at all events, under his own
name. The result is a strong, and, in many respects, a power-
fully conceived book. . . . Many of his observations have a
knack of impressing themselves on the mind as the product of
an unusually keen, shrewd, and kindly imagination. There
is also plenty of colour, movement, sensation, mystery in his
novel. The majority of the developments are true to life,
inasmuch as we do not foresee them, and, when they come
upon us, they impress us with a sense of their actuality and
inevitableness. It is not often that an Irishman writes so
cleverly of English ways and thoughts." — The Standard.
"You have a characteristically Irish railway scene in
Mr. Edge's ' The Quicksands of Life,' where a gallant pig-
jobber rescues the heroine from the turmoil of a pig fair.
Mr. Edge's description of the clearances in South Tipperary,
in the middle of the last century, to create grass ranches,
explains the cattle-driving troubles of to-day ; and, indeed,
the novel throws much light upon the condition of Ireland
half a century ago. Mr. Edge has evidently and successfully
studied his characters from life ; and I fancy I recognize
OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.
among his sitters for their portraits— Ward, the painter ;
Doran, the biographer; and, perhaps, Lord Russell of
Killowen. Anyway, 'The Quicksands of Life' is a carefully
written and interesting novel." — Truth.
" The scene is laid partly in Ireland, partly in the Temple,
and partly in the London society of half a century ago, the
ways of which are depicted with a studious fidelity that is
sometimes picturesque and always convincing. Several of
the characters leave the impression of being moulded upon
real models; and the general atmosphere of the mid- Victorian
era in thought and manners is very successfully re-created." —
Pall Mall Gazette.
" Muriel King, who loves Bernard all through, but is not
able to let him know it till the story is near its end, is a fine
character finely drawn ; and Bernard, though rather quixotic,
throughout earns and retains our sympathy. The subordinate
episode of Kathleen and Major Fitzwalter adds somewhat to
the interest of the tale, though it is not exactly indispensable.
But it introduces us to old Mrs. Fitzwalter, and so enables
Mr. Edge to give us what is, no doubt, a life-like portrait of
the English landowners in Ireland, who have done so much
to accentuate the difficulties of the Irish question." — The
Bookseller.
" There is an immense amount of plot in the book, necessi-
tating our running backwards and forwards, and changing
our venue somewhat suddenly. But the leisurely person, who
is content not to skip, and to concentrate his attention, will
find ' The Quicksands of Life ' quite an entertaining tale." —
The Daily Telegraph.
" A tale with a secret, which readers who are not wearied
of this kind of thing vail be interested in finding out."— The
Spectator.
" The mid- Victorian atmosphere is well sustained through-
out, and the actors are all very distinct personalities." — The
Academy.
" Mr. Edge, in ' An Irish Utopia,' proved that, in addition
to the knowledge of men and women that inevitably comes to
the man who practises in the law courts, he has also a
literary gift of some distinction. Both these possessions are
[ 2 ]
OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.
in evidence in his latest story, in which he gives us some
attractive glimpses of London, and then takes us to ground
with which he is equally familiar in the sister isle. The
charm of Mr. Edge's book lies principally in its unswerving
fidelity to life as it really is, though the story is neatly
constructed and told with admirable directness." — Newcastle
Chronicle,
"A bright, healthy story which maintains the interest to
the end. Early on there is a compact of incidents, but there
is a continuity about the narrative which enables the plot to
be followed with ease and pleasure, whilst the little mystery
it contains is kept up to the end." — Sheffield Daily
Telegraph.
" Mr. J. H. Edge has followed up his remarkable success,
' An Irish Utopia,' by a book which is not less interesting in
its character. He leaves Irish legal life on this occasion for
English, with which he is no less familiar, and to which he
brings the lively power of portraiture that distinguished his
earlier work. His principal figure, Bernard Leslie, is probably
scarcely intended to represent any one man in particular ; but
his career often reminds us of that of the most distinguished
lawyer whom Ireland has given to our sister island in this
generation. It is a fine piece of character-drawing, the weak-
ness as well as the strength of his nature being brought out
with much ability. . . . After more interesting pictures of life
in London twenty years ago, we are taken among the grazing
farms in Munster in the 'bad times.' The sketches of
character on both sides during the great struggle are vivid and
impartial, and many striking incidents are introduced. We
feel we are safe in giving the book a hearty welcome, and in
cordially recommending it to the many in Ireland and England
who enjoy a vivid, impartial, and genial study of English and
Irish life and character." — The Irish Times.
" This is undoubtedly the best of Mr. Edge's stories. We
regard it as a distinct advance on ' An Irish Utopia,' which
has been welcomed in all parts of the United Kingdom as an
impartial study of Irish life and character. In the present
work the chief scenes are laid in England, but the trans-
ference of the heroine as governess to a family in the south of
[ 3 ] *
OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.
Ireland gives the author the opportunity of describing some
stirring incidents arising out of the agrarian troubles." —
Belfast Newsletter.
" The local colour is vivid and artistic, and we have a
picture of Irish life of the mid-Victorian era which in its
fidelity and its vigour leaves it in no doubt that the author
has made his observations at first-hand. Mr. Edge has the
gift of creating an atmosphere which is the most precious
that the story-writer can have ... It is a description of
' quicksands ' — verily, most of the characters having more or
less acquaintance with this kind of uncertain foothold. As a
well-balanced story, full of action, and narrated with great
skill, particularly in its treatment of the leading characters,
the author has furnished in this volume that which adds to
his reputation as a novelist, and prepares the public to
welcome further work of the same kind." — The Northern
Whig.
" Perhaps the part of the book which will prove most
attractive to Irish readers is that concerning Muriel's stay in
Ireland. The account of the way some of the landed pro-
prietors extended their demesnes, and the revenge taken by
the evicted peasantry, is only too true. Ballydunamace and
its pig fair, the households at Castle Leslie and Castle
Eva, are bits of life the realism of which can only be
appreciated thoroughly by those who have lived in Ireland ;
others will enjoy the cricket match at Lord's in the sixties,
when W. G. Grace first made his mark, or the scenes laid
in the Temple." — Church of Ireland Gazette.
" There is much pathos and much humour in the book,
and we trust we may have many more from the same
distinguished pen." — The Irish Catholic.
" Chapter xviii shifts the tale to Munster, and opens
with a pig fair on a wet day. From this out we might
fancy we were reading an ' up-to-date ' romance of Maria
Edgeworth."— The Tuam Herald.
"It is full of incident, and the interest of .the reader is
engaged from the first page to the last. . . . Mr. Edge's
book is not merely an attractive story — it is a very valuable
collection of reminiscences of the Ireland of nearly half a
[ 4 ]
OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.
century ago ; and its references to the origin of the substitu-
tion of pasture for tillage in this country, with the misery
thereby entailed on the Irish peasant, are highly significant,
when it is remembered that the writer himself comes of a
landlord stock, and has been throughout his life intimately
associated as a member of the Bar, as the author of a legal
text-book on leases, and in his official capacity in the Irish
Land Commission, with the administration of the Irish Land
Laws." — Freeman's Journal,
" In this book Mr. Edge has presented for his readers'
delectation a gallery of portraits — English and Irish, male
and female — which irresistibly appeal to the reader as being
absolutely life-like and real. It has been suggested in some
reviews of the book that some of the characters are taken
straight from life. We do not think that this is so. Mr. Edge
is too much of an artist to adopt such a mechanical and crude
method. The people in the book are people who might have
existed. They talk and act like real people, and it is the
highest compliment that can be paid to the story to say that
the reader gets to know them, and follows their fortunes and
misfortunes with the most absorbing interest to the very last
page." — Irish Law Times.
" If Mr. Edge wrote all his chapters with the breeze which
characterizes his pig fair, we should have an altogether
delightful book, and I must say that to me the homely style
of his writing is most fascinating. I like the fox-terrier's
hairs sticking into everybody's clothing, and the Irishwomen
who say ' Arrah,' and the admirable wrath of the domestic
who excuses her forwardness by saying : ' I know I am
impudent, but when I blaze up inside I MUST let the fire out
or I would blow up altogether, so I would.' Love for animals
is an endearing feature of this really remarkable book. It
leavens many chapters of it ; and one really wants to shake
paw with the dear doggie whose persuasiveness is rewarded
by a bone." — " Candid Jane," in Irish Society.
" Towards the end of the sixties Ireland was in an ex-
tremely disturbed condition. Social life was agitated by the
rise of the Fenian Organization, which strove to put a stop to
the eviction of tenants for the purpose of creating large grass
[ 5 ]
OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.
ranches. Landlords were practically besieged on their own
estates by lawless men, who deemed killing a proprietor no
murder. On the other hand, the upper classes took no pains
to veil their scorn for the ' heathens and savages ' round
them. Mr. Edge displays a large knowledge of Ireland and
its peasantry. . . . Those who dabble in Irish politics
will here find much information interwoven in a very readable
novel." — The Scotsman.
"The story is bright and readable, and the writer has a
brisk, business-like way of delineating his characters, which
is very refreshing. His heroine is a lovable and interesting
character. She is always tilting against the conventionalities
of Mrs. Grundy, but, for all that, does not the least resemble
the up-to-date creatures of the modern novel, who have
opinions on marriage, and who talk largely about the develop-
ment of their personality. Her misdeeds from the social
point of view arise solely from her good impulses, and she
does not declaim about her individuality, but simply shows
an interest in men not on the list of eligibles for a society
beauty." — Glasgow Herald.
" Bernard Leslie's home is an Irish castle, and Mr. Edge
in his Irish scenes, whether at the pig fair, or in the Leslies'
home, or the peasant's hut, or in the tragic events of ruthless
evictions and revengeful night murders, gives us most vivid
and picturesque sketches of the life of the ould counthry."-
The Times of India.
" A story dealing with life in London and Ireland during
the middle of the last century should, in any case, have in it
the material for artistic treatment. Mr. Edge has brought to
the task of writing the present volume a wealth of knowledge
respecting the conditions of life and the scenes he describes.
He has handled his subject with admirable skill, and presented
a series of pictures which will please as well as instruct his
readers."— The Advertiser (Adelaide, South Australia).
JOHN MILNE, Publisher,
29 Henrietta Street, Covent Garden, London, W.C.
BINDING DEPT. JUL151958
PR Edge, John Henry
6009 An Irish utopia New
D48I6 ci.e. 2d., ed.
1910
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